


Diminishing Proximity

by Irony_Rocks



Category: Stargate Atlantis, Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-20
Updated: 2010-12-18
Packaged: 2017-10-12 01:00:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 13
Words: 92,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/119065
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Irony_Rocks/pseuds/Irony_Rocks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>SGA AU, with a few SG-1 characters tossed in for good measure. A supernatural 'verse, with vampires and werewolves. "Thrown back into a world she'd been trying desperately to leave behind, it was finally time for Elizabeth Weir to confront some demons, both from her past and of her own making." Includes various background slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Title:** Diminishing Proximity (COMPLETE)  
 **Main Characters:** All SGA characters will be used liberally.  
 **Pairing:** Sheppard/Weir. Teyla/Michael. Various implied slash.  
 **Categories:** Alternate Universe (based on werewolfs and vampires.)  
 **Warnings:** NC-17 for adult content, language, violence and character death (oh, and fair warning: mentions of character death of Aiden Ford, though he doesn't have a role in this fic at all).  
 **Summary:** Thrown back into a world she'd been trying desperately to leave behind, it was finally time for Elizabeth Weir to confront some demons - both from her past and of her own making.  
 **Spoilers:** None (Total AU)  
 **Beta'd:** Partially by , but mostly by . All idiotic typos are mine.  
 **A/N:** This? Can be entirely blamed on my flist. It's a continuation from one of my [](http:)Five AUs Where John and Elizabeth Meet pieces. Also, credit where credit is due: this story is partially inspired by 's [](http:)Unnatural Strain fic.

\--x--

  
**Chapter One**

Sunglasses firmly in place to shield her eyes from the glaring sun, Elizabeth Weir stepped under the barriers of yellow tape and marched across the wet green grass. It was a late morning in mid-August, and the cool air whipped around her as she flashed her badge at a few more uniforms standing guard around the perimeter of the crime scene. Her partner, Marshall Sumner, was waiting for her in the middle of the park, right in front of the body littered on the grassland. While there was a white cloth tactfully draped over the form, the sheets had been sullied red with blood. The stark copper smell wafted into the air and informed Elizabeth long before she approached the area that the murder had been a particularly brutal one.

Sumner looked up and caught her eye, nodding discreetly as she stepped beside him. "You're late."

Elizabeth ignored the bait, well aware that he knew exactly why she hadn't been able to immediately respond to the call. The morning after a full moon was not the best time for her partner to be in a teasing mood. She'd already been through two nights of transformation this month, and only had the last one to go through tonight. Three nights a month, every month for the last five years, she went through hell around the full moon. Her entire left side of her body was still recovering from bruises, probably from banging against the walls of her cage last night.

Only her partner would be bold enough to know all of the above and still attempt to tease her.

Sumner dropped his voice a notch, "How'd last night go?"

"Same old, same old," Elizabeth answered vaguely, securing her badge back inside her jacket pocket.

As used to the routine as she was, Elizabeth was surprised when Sumner pressed the issue, "You sure about that? Nothing unusual happen? ... No ex-boyfriends show up unexpectedly, for instance?"

Elizabeth flashed him a dark look, well aware that the insinuation was in regards to only one man. "No." She paused, and then carefully asked, "Why do you mention it?"

Sumner didn't answer, and after a slight hesitation, he simply stepped forward and dropped to a knee in front of the body. As he lifted the sheets, Elizabeth's throat quickly closed off and it took her a herculean amount of energy not to react to the sight. The body was mauled. Some of his limbs had been severed, and his head had been twisted backwards a clean 180 degrees. It wasn't the brutality that made her stomach lurch though, as she had seen (and during her darker moments, even desired) worse. No, Elizabeth recoiled emotionally because of something else.

She recognized the victim as Aiden Ford, one of John's newest kin – which made him one of her own, though she hardly knew the man.

"Oh God," she breathed. "Damn it."

Sumner sighed, and said apologetically, "I think your old werewolf pack is back in town."

\--x--

Hours later, Elizabeth sat in front of her desk and tried to work her way down her list of contacts at the precinct. Her mind wasn't even remotely focused on the task, though, lost to the memory of Aiden's body. She had already talked to the Chief Medical Examiner, an old friend by the name of Carson Beckett, about falsifying the autopsy report to cover the murder as an animal attack. Carson was one of the many people in her life that was well aware of all the creatures that went bump in the night – not just werewolves, but vampires, ghosts, banshees, and beings of all types of supernatural origins.

A decade ago, it hadn't been so. A decade ago, people would have scoffed and had her committed if she had told them about werewolves or anything of the sort. When Elizabeth had first been turned, the city of Atlantis had still been a quiet suburban place. Since then, for reasons that no one had ever truly understood, it had become a beacon to all varieties of paranormal phenomena. The city's population grew by leaps and bounds, and a major percentage of it comprised the elements Elizabeth lumped in her head as the Paranormal.

There were the whispered-about-secrets among many circles in the city, including law enforcement, but none ever let the news out fully into the public. The nation as a whole wasn't ready, and many rightfully feared the whiplash of what would happen to their hometown if the national media ever turned its eyes towards what went on in this seemingly innocuous city.

Someone hollered across the room and broke through her listless spell. "Weir, you get in touch with your pack, yet?"

Elizabeth bristled, and looked up as the new freshly-minted Captain of the precinct approached her with long, deliberate strides. As far as cops went, Steven Caldwell was a great detective, but there were times when she felt like she was beating her head against the wall when talking to him.

"They're not my pack anymore," she insisted, not for the first (or last) time.

It was one of the worst kept secrets in the department that Elizabeth Weir was a werewolf. It had been a rough couple of years, at first, dealing with the superstition and prejudice of many of her fellow officers. Sumner had been the only one that had always stood by her. But now, years later, when paranormal killings had almost become as routine to the police department as domestic violence cases, Elizabeth had earned herself a reputation for handling the more troubling cases. That didn't earn her much respect, but her place wasn't questioned as much anymore. On a good day, anyway. Elizabeth had a feeling today might be one of the bad ones.

Caldwell pulled up beside her desk, his shadow looming over her. "Fine. Have you gotten in touch with your former pack yet?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "I'm still trying. I thought they hadn't been in town for months, and I don't know how to precisely get in contact."

"Months?"

Elizabeth studied the paperwork in front of her with more intensity than it deserved. "They're probably searching for a new hunting ground, or meeting with another pack to form alliances."

Or John was still trying to avoid her and having anything to do with her city.

"Try harder," Caldwell insisted. "This is what we pay you for, right?"

Elizabeth repressed the first retort that sprang to mind, and watched him march into his office without a further comment.

As much as she was a cop, the department used her as more of a diplomat or a go-between at times. Elizabeth was allowed to wander further in to the supernatural factions of the city than any other detective because they recognized her as one of their own. She was known to make frequent visits to the Paranormals, making sure that they weren't causing trouble. If they didn't cooperate, she would step in with law enforcement. The city-dwelling creatures always knew to take Elizabeth's meetings seriously. The city was, to a certain extent, willing to let the Paranormals have their way of life. It would cause too many problems otherwise to try to run their lives or, god forbid, try to "eradicate" the problem as some closed-minded men suggested from time to time. But as long as no one got hurt, Elizabeth figured (and Caldwell and other higher-ups agreed) that what went on privately in their homes (or covens, packs and groups) was entirely their own business. Years ago, when she had first been turned, she'd fought tooth and nail to put this system in place, largely because she'd had a pack of her own at the time.

It had been the most intense three years of her life, living as part of one among many werewolves. On the one hand, Elizabeth had never felt such a bone-deep connection to another group of people in her entire life. During that time, her kin, those in the same bloodline of werewolves as she, had become closer to Elizabeth than the family she had been born into. She had struggled and shared everything with them, most especially the leader of the clan.

She had called John Sheppard her sire, and more than that, her lover.

Those days were entirely in the past, though.

Suppressing a sigh, Elizabeth gathered up her belongings and grabbed her keys. It took her a moment to decide where she needed to go, who she needed to get in contact with to track down John, but when the answer came to her, it was glaringly obvious. A mutual friend lived not far from here. In fact, as Elizabeth shrugged on her jacket and left the precinct, she recognized that this particular individual had probably anticipated her visit long before Elizabeth had ever decided on it.

Few things like that ever got by a clairvoyant like Teyla Emmagan.

\--x--

Teyla was one of Elizabeth's oldest Paranormal friends, and she meant that in all possible permutations of the meaning. By anyone's standards, the other woman was exceptionally beautiful, but especially so when they learned of the fact that she was actually one hundred and sixty-seven years old. Teyla Emmagan was a witch, the most powerful and oldest witch in all of Atlantis. There were few things that happened in this city without Teyla's knowledge. When Elizabeth first been bitten, she'd been shocked and, yes, a little intimidated by the shorter woman and her unique powers of clairvoyance. Teyla was a force to be reckoned with, one that wasn't known to often befriend Paranormals as young as Elizabeth.

Nevertheless, when Elizabeth was given the task of supernatural cases, over the years it necessitated that they stayed in close contact with each other. Elizabeth had come to see that underneath all that power was a woman who craved everyday things and normal companionship as much as Elizabeth did, and slowly, they struck up a strong friendship which solidified over the years.

As she entered Teyla's downtown bookstore that afternoon, Elizabeth weaved past the bookshelves full of esoteric merchandise intended for witchcraft, and headed towards the back room. She stepped up to the large oak door and placed her hand on the doorknob, acutely aware of the pinprick that silently drew blood. A moment later, when the blood sample had identified her as a Paranormal, the door swung open on its own and allowed her entrance. The front of the store was filled with tourist trappings, all the things that an amateur or a naïve visitor would expect to find in a bookstore for witchcraft. The back, however, was where the real merchandise was stored: statutes of goddesses, pendants of power, books that were more aged than Teyla herself. There were a number of dead creatures hanging upside down from hooks, and as Elizabeth passed by, the smell of blood wafted through the air and goaded the werewolf in her.

She was two nights down this month in the transformation, but she still had tonight to go. During this period, her senses were always incredibly heightened.

"Elizabeth?" Teyla stopped her, and Elizabeth turned around and saw the other woman standing in the doorway to her private quarters. Teyla waved her in. "Come, I have prepared a late lunch for us."

Typical, was all Elizabeth could think. "How long have you been expecting me to stop by?"

"Long enough," Teyla answered, and smiled in a way that made Elizabeth think she was missing some type of joke.

Elizabeth silently mused that the older Witch had a sense of humor that could be described as nothing other than wicked sometimes. Teyla often regarded everyone around her with a twinkle in her eye or a raised eyebrow that just spoke _volumes_. Elizabeth stepped through the doorway and followed Teyla into her kitchen.

For one of the most powerful Paranormals in the city, she lived a modest life. While her private quarters were decorated with swaths of dark colored satin and silk, the place was still humble and had its own charm. Teyla seated herself in front of the small kitchen table and gestured for Elizabeth to take her own seat opposite. On the table rested two steaks, and Elizabeth's was thick and juicy, so rare that the meat was practically marinated in blood. Her mouth immediately watered.

Teyla's eyes sparkled up at her knowingly. "I thought you'd enjoy something to eat while we talked."

If it was anybody else, Elizabeth would have politely declined, always intensely self-aware of perception and the unseemliness of her own carnal side. She hated letting anyone see her like that, even Sumner. But this was Teyla, and it was also best not to turn down the hospitality for fear of offending the witch.

Elizabeth shrugged off her coat and hung it on the back of her chair, settling in with a sigh. "Teyla, one of these days I'm gonna swing by here and catch you by surprise."

"Good luck with that," Teyla responded affectionately.

For a few moments, they ate in silence and Elizabeth quickly realized that she was famished. The meat was tender and rare, and managed to sooth Elizabeth in a way that she almost hated.

But there was pressing needs to attend to.

"Aiden Ford is dead."

Teyla's eyes connected with hers. "I know. I spoke with John earlier this morning."

Elizabeth's body immediately tensed and that precious and rigid sliver of control she had over her carnal side slipped. She blamed it on the time of the month, on the blood in the air, on the taste of flesh still lingering in her mouth, but the werewolf in her was too close to the surface. The mate reared its head and snarled, eyes darkening in a tint of yellow.

She took a steadying breath, and recovered. "So he's in town again?" she asked, and applauded herself for the veneer of composure.

Not that it'd fool Teyla much. The full moon had control over a normal werewolf, but for an Alpha female like Elizabeth, the transformations could take place at any given time. If she was properly goaded, she could alter her physical form in any length of the conversion. She could manipulate her body from simply tinting her eyes dark to changing all the way into a full-fledged werewolf. It was a so-called advantage to being an Alpha werewolf, though Elizabeth didn't see it as such.

Teyla's eyes were calculating now. "Yes, for a few days. He's been searching for Aiden."

"Why? Was Aiden missing for some time?"

Teyla nodded. "Aiden left the pack several weeks ago after an argument with John. Naturally, John was concerned and rightfully so. Aiden has been in trouble for some time."

"What was the fight about?"

"That is best left for you to discuss with John," Teyla argued, wiping her mouth with a napkin as she rose from the table. "It is not my business to wade in the middle of a pack's affairs."

"You're not wading in the middle of anything," Elizabeth insisted, voice hardening. "You're helping with an investigation, Teyla. A murder investigation. I'm not a werewolf right now. I'm a homicide detective."

Teyla arched an eyebrow, incredulous. "Really?"

Elizabeth met her stare evenly. "Yes."

Teyla shook her head, and turned away to the kitchen sink. "Your control, it is a thing I admire, Elizabeth, and I do not say that to just anyone. I have always marveled that one so young can have such dominion over herself. But there is a fine line between control and repression, and you walk it very, very carefully." Elizabeth would have ignored this, having heard some variation of this from more than one Paranormal over the years, but then Teyla continued in a softer voice, the sting of her words more poisoned. "You cannot let the guilt of that one night rule you forever. Your beast was only doing what comes naturally to it—"

Elizabeth rose from her chair, abruptly rattled and annoyed. "Teyla, I did not come here to be preached to, nor do I intend to sit through another lecture on the nature of my beast."

Teyla paused, an expression falling onto her face that reminded Elizabeth of her mother when Elizabeth had done something particularly foolish as a teenager. It rattled her nerves, but more than that, Teyla's words rang too clearly in her head. Goaded by the reminder of that one night two years ago, Elizabeth needed a few seconds to repress the memory of the ravaged and nameless young woman; a victim that had been Elizabeth's own.

"So young," Teyla assessed softly, "and such guilt."

Elizabeth snatched her coat and shrugged it on with a fury she could barely contain. It was dangerous, even for a woman such as Teyla, to provoke Elizabeth's temper today of all days of the month. Dangerous and foolish, and Elizabeth needed to get out of here before she said or did something that she'd later on regret.

"Thank you for your help," she managed. "It's been very enlightening."

"Elizabeth, do not go away angry."

"If you have anything of use to add, you can call me later."

"Elizabeth," Teyla called, her voice turning apologetic. "Elizabeth, Wait!"

But she was too worked up and unnerved, and her stride out the door never broke.

\--x--

The rest of the day failed to produce any leads, and a few hours before sunset, Elizabeth returned early to her home to make arrangements for the night. The cage in the basement of her house was made from reinforced steel and large enough to span half the width of her basement floor. She hated being confined to such a small place, but it was better than the alternative.

Two years ago, her beast had gotten the better of her and Elizabeth had awoken in the dawn to find herself covered in human blood. She had killed and fed on a woman during her transformation, though as much as Elizabeth tried, she could not properly recall the details of that night at all. The guilt of it was still suffocating, and it was this event that had shaped everything else that followed after. It was John that had gotten rid of the body and all evidence of the murder, though when Elizabeth found out what he had done, she'd lashed out at him for trying to sweep the murder under the rug. It didn't matter that he had done in out of loyalty to her, done it to protect her. The action quickly put a strain on their relationship. She couldn't look him in the eye anymore, just as much as she couldn't stand the reflection in the mirror.

For a long time afterwards, Elizabeth had contemplated just turning herself into the authorities. But there was no evidence, and though she had tried exhaustively, Elizabeth had never been able figure out the identity of the victim. Added to that, crimes of the paranormal still weren't recognized in the court systems and Elizabeth couldn't even remember the details of the killing.

It would have done no good for her to confess to a crime, when she couldn't even be convicted of it.

She had walked away from her pack after that, though, devastating them in the process. John, most of all. He'd argued with her and they'd fought – god, they fought so violently that she'd literally came to blows with him at one point. But she made her decision. He never understood why she left him or the pack behind. It was unthinkable for most Paranormals to do that once they became part of a clan. The connection was made more complicated by the fact that she was John's mate – the Alpha female to his Alpha male. It was a pair bond between two werewolves that was supposed to last a lifetime. In that allotted role, Elizabeth was second in command to John. The others in the pack had looked to her as much as they had looked to John for leadership.

Though she doubted she could ever describe it properly to a non-Paranormal, that connection to her pack had gone down to her very bones. Leaving them, leaving John, had gone against every primal instinct in her body. A few of the ones in her head, too. But she couldn't deal with the primitive aspects of being a werewolf anymore. She wouldn't risk another killing. The sway of the moon was too much for her to handle, and the clan's way of life inherently embraced that primal urge. Though they never condoned the blood thirst of killing humans, they didn't try to suppress what it meant to be a werewolf.

As Elizabeth secured the cage that evening, she thought back to that killing years ago and everything it had done to her, how it changed her, what it had cost her. Her life was all about control now. Control and rationality and the ability to keep her more primal urges under constant restraint.

Which was why, when she sensed John Sheppard's smell in the air long before he stepped out of the shadows, she closed her eyes and prepared herself for the worst. She felt his presence behind her, step down the stairs of her basement with the sounds of his hollow footsteps echoing off the cement walls. For the life of her, for the first few seconds she couldn't make herself turn around and face him.

"Hey, Elizabeth," he greeted, and the timber of his voice was so familiar to her that it rumbled through her body. "Been a while."

\--x--


	2. Chapter 2

\--x--

For a lingering second afterwards, Elizabeth stayed stock rigid before she recovered the courage to move. She hadn't seen John in months, and even then, their meetings had been nothing but brief and perfunctory, jabbed with awkward silence that would explode into a vicious fight with no warning at all. As she pivoted on her heels and faced him today, she took him in with a cool sweep of her eyes, trying her damndest to maintain composure.

John halted at the foot of the staircase, head tilted to one side, hands shoved in his pockets. He was wearing loosely fitted washed jeans and a blue shirt that was hung open at the collar. The effect made him look rumpled, almost careless in his appearance like he'd just rolled out of bed and walked out the door. Except Elizabeth was well familiar with the visage. His face was freshly shaven just the way she liked it and his hair stuck up in a tuff that took him at least fifteen minutes every morning to produce.

John Sheppard was a strikingly handsome man, and damn him for knowing her so well. The appearance had been purposely shaped to throw her off her balance.

"John," she managed, voice surprisingly steady and firm. "I'm surprised you waited this long to see me. Been in town for a few weeks?"

He flashed a smile that didn't come close to reaching his eyes. "I thought the last time we spoke, you made it clear that you didn't want to see me anymore?"

The tone was so detached that Elizabeth thought she felt the temperature in the room plummet several degrees. So they were going to be play this distant, then? Elizabeth wasn't surprised. In fact, she was almost relieved. It was when the fights got heated that things wandered into dangerous territory with them.

She rested a hip against the bars of the cage behind her, and made a noncommittal noise. She quickly moved along. "I take it that Teyla talked to you this afternoon after I met up with her?"

"Something like that," he responded vaguely, more interested in sweeping a gaze passed her at the wide cage. A mixture of annoyance and amusement flittered across his face. "So this is your cage?"

"This is my cage," Elizabeth affirmed quietly.

"It's big," he assessed, then casually shrugged, rocking on his heels with quiet amusement. "Bigger than I imagined. You could hold a couple of guys in there. Ever entertain?"

"I usually hold my dinner parties upstairs."

John flashed a quick grin. "That wasn't the type of entertainment I was talking about."

He treaded forward a few steps, walking up to her and the cage, and ran a hand across one of the steel bars next to her. Though his gaze was secured on the bar as he gripped it tightly, ostensibly to test the strength of the metal, Elizabeth knew the true motive of the move. The maneuver brought them almost within contact, almost touching, and she tried not to give him any satisfaction by reacting to the proximity. She'd been playing these games with John ever since she'd left the pack, and every time they met, John always tested the limits of how much the mate in her could take. She was usually able to handle whatever he threw at her. Except right now she was mere hours away from a night of transformations, and it had been months since she had last seen him. The combination made things much more… _complicated._

Elizabeth was known for her control, but this was more than a little ridiculous.

Caving, she brushed passed him, reaching for the pile of paperwork that rested on a rickety table in the corner. It was the case file she had been reviewing all day long. "I'm sorry about Aiden."

Behind her, she felt John stiffen. "Yeah. Me, too."

She turned around and dangled the case file at her side. "What happened, John?"

He shrugged. "You're the detective. You tell me."

"Don't," she sighed. "Don't make this more difficult than it already is." The look he flashed her was dark and full of warning, but the next second he was turning away, scrubbing a hand across the back of his neck. She tried again. "What happened, John?"

He didn't answer. Instead, casually, he paced across the open space and kept inspecting the cage, as if looking for a weak spot. "How long did it take you to construct this thing?"

"We're not here to talk about my cage, John."

"Really?" he tossed back. "What exactly are we here for?"

The question was left hanging in the air, and then Elizabeth picked up on the aroma of his scent. It was probably outside of his full control, but John was sending out a scent that was meant to appeal to the mate in her. It was reassuring to know that she affected him as easily as he affected her, though the idea that both of them had trouble keeping their hormones in check was hardly a good thing.

Damn it. Not even two minutes in, and she was already struggling to control her baser instincts.

She shook her head and dropped the file back on to the table. "You know what? Never mind. I don't have time for this tonight. I need to finish making arrangements for the change."

John threw her a dirty look. "We still have over an hour and a half before sunset."

"I prefer not to wait until the last moment."

"And what arrangements?" John continued irritated. "You just toss yourself in the cage and lock the door like you're some wild animal at the zoo."

Elizabeth glared. "I think you should probably get going, too. You need time to reach safe grounds. Where is the pack hunting these nights?"

He paused, and Elizabeth saw annoyance building in his shoulders like a thunderstorm. "Why do you care?"

She tried not to flinch. "I need to get in contact with you tomorrow to talk abou—"

"You have anything to ask, you can say it now."

"I want to ask you questions, but you're not going to answer," Elizabeth refuted knowingly. "Not now. You'll just hedge anything you have to say."

That goaded him even more. "You've asked me one question so far. I didn't realize this was all or nothing—"

"I know you, John," she snapped, voice brimming with frustration. "You didn't come here to talk about Aiden. Not tonight, not right now."

Not with the transformation within hours and their bodies beginning to adjust in anticipation. She could already feel her blood preparing for the change. It was already flushing her system with hormones and pheromones, and the awareness of her surroundings intensified by the minute.

And then there was John, her mate, her life bond, the man she hadn't seen in months and hadn't touched in years, standing before her.

For a lingering moment and entirely without her permission, an image sprang to mind of him _taking_ her against the cage. The want of it was so crystal clear that Elizabeth could already taste John on her lips, feel the heat pooling between her thighs. She felt John react to the scent, react to her smell of her arousal filling the air because his eyes flashed yellow and glowed with desire that echoed her own.

 _Shit._

Before he could react, Elizabeth broke for the cage.

Reaching for her John tried to cut her off at the pass, but he was a second too late. She slammed the door closed behind her, locking her in and, more importantly, John out with the resounding clang. His face was inches apart from hers, with the bars in between them, and their breathing hung heavy in the air. Her eyes flushed yellow, and she could feel the werewolf within her vying for control. The picture of John taking her hard and fast, making her scream as the change overtook them… it boiled her blood. The werewolf in her didn't like the distance she kept from John. Didn't like it at all. It wanted to breach it forcefully, see clothes torn off and taste skin and blood and feel flesh against her own.

It was already too late, though. She was locked in her cage and even though the key dangled around her neck, she didn't dare risk the thought of opening the door. Elizabeth took a steadying breath and her fingers curled white-knuckled around the bars.

"Leave, John," Elizabeth urged in a low voice. "Leave now. We'll talk la—"

"I don't want to talk," he growled, the mate surfacing.

"John—"

"What?" he cut in, roaring, and slammed a hand against the bars. The cage shook and reverberated, and Elizabeth could still feel the mate within her responding to John's aggression. "Don't _John_ me, Elizabeth. You want this, too."

The pheromones in the air spoke louder than any denials Elizabeth could voice. It was stupid, _so stupid_ , to see him tonight. She should never have risked it.

She tried again. "John, go."

His eyes flashed bright yellow, but then slowly, bit by bit, she could tell the man was reclaiming control. His voice dropped from a roar to a whisper, almost pleading with her. "Elizabeth," he breathed, "open the door."

The softness in his voice managed to affect her on a level that his earlier aggression hadn't. Elizabeth held back a whimper and jerked away from the bars. She whirled around, her back to him, and concentrated on the cement walls of her basement.

"Elizabeth, please."

"John," she pleaded back. "Just go."

After a moment, she was aware that John drew away from the cage. She could picture him running a hand through his hair as he shuffled back a few steps; she could feel him trying to lessen the tension in his body with a few steadying breaths. Elizabeth had always been better at control than John, unnaturally gifted at it for one so young, but John was an older Alpha dog. He had strength in him that outshined her own, and while his control wasn't as rigid, it wasn't exactly trivial either.

When he spoke again, it was obvious that he had redirected his desires back into anger. "So this is how it's gonna be, huh? You just lock yourself up until the end of time? Fight what you are—"

"I have better control over myself when you're not nearby," Elizabeth argued, pivoting on the balls of her feet. She recognized the mask of anger that was covering up everything else, but she found herself receptive to it, wanting to provoke it instead of other things. "I'm only talking to you now because of Aiden's case."

"Aiden's _case_?" John barked the words. "That's one of ours you're talking about. Not some goddamn case about the average fucking Joe. Aiden Ford. One of ours."

Her gaze shifted to the walls again. Aiden had been one of John's newest recruits, a man he had bitten no less than a year ago, long after Elizabeth had left the pack. Though she'd met him only in passing during those rare meetings she'd had with her former pack, what she'd seen of him she'd liked. He'd been a charming young man, with bright eager eyes and a way about him that made it obvious that he practically worshipped the ground John walked on.

Aiden's death must have been cutting John up inside to pieces.

"I'm sorry," she breathed softly, well aware that John hadn't retreated from his confrontation. She forced herself to meet his accusing eyes, and said again, "I really am sorry, John."

He held her gaze, and then turned away abruptly. He planted himself in front to the small window that was affixed in the upper corner of the basement wall. Though the view was constricting, Elizabeth knew any view to the outside world was better than nothing. It was unnatural for most werewolves to bar themselves within concrete during a transformation. John craved the open air and a clear view of the sky tonight like all normal werewolves did.

Thick silence settled in, and Elizabeth struggled to contain herself as the desire to reach for him became overwhelming. It wasn't entirely sexual, either. A part of her just wanted to press a hand over his tense shoulders. Reassurance. Comfort. These were things she had given him once upon a time.

"You still…" he breathed so low, so softly, that if she hadn't had extraordinary hearing, she would never have heard it. "You still manage to get under my skin, even after all this time."

She expelled a sigh, and nearly laughed on the next shaky breath. "The feeling's mutual." She paused, and after a moment, offered, "We should talk again, tomorrow. We shouldn't have tried tonight. It was foolish."

John barked a short laugh. "That's one word for it."

"Where can I reach you?"

"Don't worry about it," John replied, turning around to finally face her again. "I'll find you."

His eyes finally returned to their normal hazel color, though the change did nothing to diminish his appeal. He swept his gaze over her, inside of her cage, and an expression akin to loss slowly settled onto his face. That vulnerability made Elizabeth's chest ache.

She hadn't always been fair to John. Never mind John's engorged sense of responsibility when it came to his people; that killing years ago had never been his fault, only her own. She'd still punished him for it. She'd broken the lifetime bond of a mate, and that was a cruel sentence he hadn't deserved. He'd always tried nothing but his best to protect her, to keep her safe. If circumstances had been different, she doubted he would have left her side all his life.

She was undeserving of such fierce loyalty.

"Goodnight, John," she whispered. "Go. Get to a safe place."

He glanced at his watch, and nodded slowly. "I'll tell everyone you said hello."

Something else broke inside her and she nearly wanted to cry. "You do that."

He slowly turned and climbed the stairs until she heard the basement door slam shut. She could hear his footsteps up above her head, padding across her white-walled hallways towards the foyer. A moment before she heard the front door open and bang closed, a part of her even wanted to call out and stop him.

After he left, Elizabeth sank down onto her knees and rested quietly in her cage. It was a full hour before the transformation, but she was already exhausted, emotionally and physically spent. She started removing her clothing out of habit, folding them up and slipping them out of the bars, just out of reach. She pulled free the metal chained necklace over her head, placing the keys on top, within reach so that when she awoke in the morning she wouldn't have to strain to grab them. Last but not least, she placed her gun, badge and her cell phone next to the pile.

As she settled naked on the cold ground and waited, the minutes ticked by and Elizabeth could feel the transformation looming. At first, she felt it in her blood, felt warmth spread through her like her insides were simmering. The hairs on her body stood on end and her awareness expanded, intensifying until she felt like she could sense every molecule of air brush passed her bare skin.

As it darkened outside, her breathing grew labored and Elizabeth felt the moment arrive. She lowered herself onto all fours, head hung low and waited. Pain assaulted her - sharp and flaring, spiking up her spine. Hair grew - thick and course. Her body changed - making room for burgeoning flesh and muscle, ripping old skin apart for new. She screamed in anguish and cried out, and the assault continued until the woman that was Elizabeth Weir had become unrecognizable.

With the cloudless night hanging in the windows, she flung her head back and howled against the moon.

\--x--

Elizabeth groaned as the world shifted into focus, coming to with her face planted against the cement floor of her basement cage. The cool morning air chased goosebumps across her naked flesh, and she shivered, pulling herself up into a tight ball to fend off the chill. Her muscles ached and protested, and then Elizabeth realized what had awoken her. Her cell phone was ringing, chirping a melody to some vaguely recognizable show tune. She struggled to focus, reaching through the bars as her uncoordinated fingers brushed against the edge of her phone. Finally, after a few endless seconds, she snagged the thing and dragged it to her ear.

"Hello?" she groaned.

The voice on the other end sounded apologetic from the get-go. "Elizabeth, dear, are you alright?"

She blinked, and focused. "Carson?"

"Aye, Elizabeth."

"What time is it?"

"A quarter after ten."

Shit. She'd overslept. Struggling to push off on her elbows, Elizabeth glanced towards the small window and saw daylight breaking through. Carson was speaking again, but Elizabeth had entirely missed what the Chief Medical Examiner had said.

"What was that, Carson?"

"I said, are you all right? I can come over in a snap if you need—"

"No, no," Elizabeth cut in quickly. "I'm fine. I'm fine. Just a rough night, Carson."

On the other end, he huffed an annoyed breath. "I'd imagine so, aye."

Elizabeth almost managed a smile as she reached through the bars again for her keys. Carson had been begging for years to allow him to check up on her the morning after the transformations, but Elizabeth always reassured him that there was no need for medical intervention. The man was as stubborn as he was smart, though, so the offers never abated.

"Anyway," Carson continued, "I was calling because of work. I've asked Sumner to come down around noon to the morgue. There's something about Aiden Ford's autopsy that I think might be of a wee bit of interest."

Elizabeth stiffened. "What is it?"

"Best for me to explain in person," Carson said, in a tone that usually meant there was definitely something extraordinary about the findings, more extraordinary than the average paranormal case, even. "Noon alright for you?"

"Yeah, fine," Elizabeth replied, and stood to unlock herself from the cage. "I can be there earlier if you—"

"No, no," Carson cut in. "Take your time. Rest and recover."

Recovery was not a problem for her, as Elizabeth healed quickly. In a couple of hours or less, the bruises that covered her body would be non-existent and Elizabeth would be physically fit again, freakishly so. Her toned muscles and body mass were naturally that of a person that worked out exhaustively, and she could eat like a wrestler every day and not gain an ounce. Though few and far between, there were certain advantages to being a werewolf.

Elizabeth sighed as the door unlocked and she stepped free from her cage. "Alright, Carson. See you in a few."

\--x--

Sumner met up with her in the hallway outside the morgue. As they walked together, he passed her a cup of coffee and asked about her transformation, but for several different reasons, Elizabeth responded in only the vaguest of answers. She mentioned nothing of John. Though near the end of Elizabeth's relationship with John she thought her partner had finally come to grudgingly accept the other man in her life - even, possibly, respected John in a way - the feelings never quite extended into actual fondness. During those years it had been turbulent trying to balance and placate the two men in her life. They were both stubborn to the extreme, but in dissimilar ways.

Sumner was a third generation cop. He was disciplined and followed the rules, and worked hard every day in an often thankless job like there was nothing else in the world he'd rather be doing. John was… deceptively easy-going. He made his own rules up as he went along (and often broke those). He could never settle his focus on any one thing. The two got along like cats and dogs, though she silently mused that Sumner wouldn't appreciate the animal analogy in the least.

When they pushed open the metal doors of the morgue and stepped into the cool sterile environment, Elizabeth glanced around and spotted Carson at the far end.

"Doc," Sumner called out as they walked closer. "What have you got for us today?"

Carson ran a sweeping gaze over Elizabeth's form first, scrupulously checking to see her condition this morning. She flashed him a bright smile in reassurance, and Carson released a breath and turned back to the paperwork in his hands. "Aye, I've got something interesting for you today."

"Define interesting."

Carson dropped the file onto a steel gurney, and pivoted to face them. "Vampire blood."

Elizabeth exchanged a glance with Sumner, confused. "What about it?"

"It was in your victim," Carson elaborated. "Aiden Ford had vampire blood in his system."

Elizabeth immediately stiffened, eyes narrowing in disbelief. "That's impossible, Carson. Aiden was a werewolf, not a vampire."

The two, fundamentally, didn't mix. Even on a genetic level.

"No, you don't understand," Carson clarified, shaking his head and pushing the paperwork towards her. Elizabeth gave it a quick superficial glance, and realized they were lab results for something, though she couldn't sparse the scientific syntax without time to digest the information. "Although truthfully, neither do I," Carson confessed. "I've never seen anything like it before. I ran the tests twice to confirm it, but aye, his system was flooded with an enzyme you only see in vampires. Looked like a long standing habit, too. I think this poor sap injected it into his bloodstream repeatedly."

Elizabeth stared at Carson for a moment, speechless.

"Why?" Sumner asked.

"How the bloody hell should I know?" Carson refuted angrily. "All I know is that particular enzyme is known to increase a vampire's regenerative ability and strength. I've been studying it at a cellular level, and it seems that the vampire enzyme, in conjunction with the natural elements you'd find in a werewolf… well, they were doing some very interesting things." He paused. "My best guess? And I stress the word _guess_ —"

"Of course, Carson," Elizabeth cut in, impatiently. "What do you think it is?"

Carson swiveled his chair a little, crossing his arms over his chest. "I think we might be looking at a new recreational drug for Paranormals."

\--x--

Vampire blood.

The words tumbled around in Elizabeth's head as her heels rapped against the hallway floors and down the front steps. What the hell was Aiden doing? Why had he injected himself with vampire blood? The thought terrified her, rightfully so. The idea that this could be a new black market drug for paranormals… God, it was, at its core, foolish and fundamentally dangerous. Vampires were the ones that fed, not the ones that were fed upon. They wouldn't take kindly to the role reversal.

"So," Sumner said as they approached her car, throwing her a searching gaze over the rooftop. "Where are we headed now?"

Elizabeth's fingers played the keys in her hand, hesitating. "We go to the source."

"The source?" Sumner repeated in a tone. "Does that mean…?"

Elizabeth nodded, and got into her car. She slipped the seatbelt into place and drummed her fingers against the steering wheel while Sumner slid into the passenger seat next to her. Reluctantly he joined her without immediate complaint, but when she keyed the ignition, she could sense the jaded look on his face without a glance in his direction.

"I hate vampires," he declared unnecessarily.

Elizabeth nodded, all too willing to agree with the assessment. Though her work required that she have contact with the vampire faction of the city just like she had contact with every other paranormal group, Elizabeth tried to keep her distance. They were the most dangerous kind of paranormal. It wasn't like the movies, where they hunted at night and killed victims for their blood. No. Mostly, vampires had a legion of willing humans who gladly offered up their bodies to them every night in exchange for other carnal pleasures.

There were, on occasion, murders that occurred because of vampire feedings. The police usually stepped in and handled those situations like any other, and knowing that cooperation was the only way to survive, the vampire community in Atlantis was usually willing to lend assistance to the authorities in any way they could. They didn't want any more trouble than necessary, and why bother with killings when they had humans that were all too willing to be their slaves and worshippers?

"We're gonna see that guy, aren't we?" Sumner muttered with an annoyed huff. "That head asshole?"

She couldn't contain her exasperation. "See? This is why I don't normally take you with me to these things. You don't do diplomacy well."

"You don't usually take me to these things because they don't normally let me come along."

Vampires were one of the few paranormal groups that didn't mind Sumner tagging along on Elizabeth's visitations. Mainly because the first few times she'd made the venture cross-city into vampire territory, he'd insisted on accompanying her, convinced it was too dangerous for her to go in by herself. John had even tagged along on a few occasions as well. It was one of those rare instances where the two men were in agreement on anything, and like always, it centered on her welfare and protection.

Overprotective Alpha males, the both of them.

"What's his name again?"

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. "You ask me that every time."

"I keep forgetting," he retorted, entirely unrepentant.

Her eyes settled briefly on the passing scenery flashing by her window. "Kenmore," she answered softly. "His name is Michael Kenmore."

One of the most influential vampires in Atlantis, Michael Kenmore was as handsome, suave and dangerous as one would imagine a vampire being. But even after years of interacting with him, Elizabeth still wasn't sure what to think of him. He never struck her as the killing type, though this perception was probably tainted by one key fact. Once upon a time, Elizabeth was well aware that Teyla had taken him as her lover. How the relationship began or why it ended was unclear, but Elizabeth had gathered enough tidbits and scraps of information to gather that Teyla still harbored at least a morsel of feelings for Michael. It was for this reason alone that Elizabeth was less willing to judge him with her natural inclinations. Michael had to have some humanity in him if Teyla had chosen him for a lover.

As she pulled up to the gates of Michael's estate, she flashed her badge at the security guard at the front. It took a minute for Elizabeth's identity to be confirmed, and while she waited, she studied the guard covertly, noting the small tattoo on his neck that marked his allegiance to Michael. A devoted human lackey, Elizabeth concluded, holding back a sigh of frustration.

In the backdrop, the manor itself was gaudy and lavish, something that probably cost three times as much as what she'd make in her entire life. It was, in her view, another strike against Michael. It only reinforced all the bad clichés in her head about vampires. In her experience, somebody that needed that type of flagrant display of money was insecure and overcompensating for something missing in their lives.

Still, as they were let through the gate and guided into the parking lot, she snapped off the ignition and slanted a cautioning look towards Sumner. "Remember," she warned, "be nice."

Sumner rolled his eyes as he swung the door open. "Yeah," he muttered under his breath. "Like that's gonna happen."

She got out of the car, stepping onto the gravel pavement that comprised the large parking lot. The mansion stood twenty yards away, the entrance guarded by more humans, and as they started walking, Elizabeth's cell phone rang. She snapped it open and brought it to her ear, greeting quickly, "Weir, here."

"Elizabeth?" John's voice came back over the other end, but Elizabeth didn't have time to respond. John continued in a tone just shy of frantic, "Elizabeth, where the hell are you?!"

Elizabeth blinked, and stopped walking. "And hello to you too, John."

Beside her Sumner's feet halted on the gravel, and he turned to her, face darkening. "Sheppard?" he muttered. "Figured he'd—"

Sumner's voice was drowned out by John's shouting over the phone. "Elizabeth, don't go into Michael's place!"

Abruptly, all the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and she pivoted away from Michael's mansion and the guards that stood a dozen yards away. "John," she whispered fiercely, "How did you kno—"

"Teyla," he cut in quickly. "She had a vision. Whatever you do, don't go into Michael's mansion!"

"What's he yelling about?" Sumner asked her, eyes squinted against the sunlight as he edged closer. "If the idiot's trying to win you back, tell Romeo there that yelling at you over the phone is not the best way—"

Elizabeth tossed him a quelling look, silencing him with nothing but a hard glare before she refocused her attention on the phone. "John, slow down," she urged. "What did Teyla see? What's going to happ—"

The mansion blew up in her face and Elizabeth was flung backwards.

\--x--


	3. Chapter 3

\--X--

 _She awoke with the first whispers of dawn, blood caked on her skin and vague images flashing across her mind. A scream. A bright flash. A splash of blood streaking across the pavement. Most people never saw blood by the sight of moonlight – how it darkened and shadowed into black. Elizabeth was intimately familiar with the sight, but as she struggled to rouse awake this morning, she pushed off the cold pavement and lifted her head, recognizing almost nothing._

The sight of a mangled body nearby greeted her. Feeling drugged and disoriented, the sight of flesh and blood so soon after a transformation meant she didn't gag like a normal person, didn't flinch at the sight. But as her vision cleared and consciousness returned slowly, Elizabeth regained her awareness and her eyes widened in shock.

"Elizabeth!" John screamed from somewhere in the distance.

The body – who was it? Where was she? What was going on?

"Elizabeth!" John yelled again, skidding to a halt beside her naked form.

Her eyes were focused on the mangled corpse, though. On the blood that caked her naked skin and the taste of flesh hanging heavy in her mouth. More images flittered in through her confusion: The full moon. The sight of a young girl walking down the dark streets. Her screaming. The slash of claws against her body.

The gag reflex finally came now, and Elizabeth's eyes watered as she turned towards John with desperation in her voice. "Oh god, John," she breathed in horror. "What have I done?"

John's face was ashen but he cupped her face and tried to be soothing. "It's all right, Elizabeth. I'll take care of—"

"What have I done?!"

\--X--

Elizabeth awoke with a start.

The nightmare, which was more memory than anything else, clawed at her insides. Her heart was racing, thudding against her chest like a jackhammer. Disoriented she flinched against the brightly lit room and quickly pushed herself upright in bed, taking in her surroundings with a sweeping glance. The unfamiliar place was tiny and spartanly decorated, and there was a distinct scent in the air that smelled of rat droppings. She was alone, though in the distance she could hear the noises of others.

She scrubbed a hand through her hair and attempted to roll out of bed, but her muscles protested and her arm stung; puckered with red splotches that were good indicators of recently healing skin. It took a full second for the memory to catch up with her, but when it did, it slammed into Elizabeth with a force of a train wreck.

"The mansion," she breathed, remembering the explosion.

She lifted her gaze to the exit, and quickly forced herself to climb out of bed. Still nursing sore muscles and a blinding headache, it took her a few seconds for the room to stop spinning around like a dreidel. She dimly realized that someone had changed her out of her regular clothes and she was now adorned in a ratty t-shirt and sweats.

And the smell that lingered all over her was only all too familiar: John.

Increasingly confused, she threw a searching gaze around as she crossed the room in quick strides and made her way toward the rear hallway. She emerged into a long dingy corridor that had another dozen rooms branching out. The place was apparently huge, but it certainly wasn't much to look at. The corridors were poorly lit, but Elizabeth could make out the crumbling plaster on the walls and the peeling chips of paint. She twisted her way through several turns, drawn by the sound of distant voices, and approached the entrance to a small kitchen.

Cautiously, she craned her neck to glance inside, and found the place crowded with several members of her kin.

Spotting Lorne, Laura and Radek among the number, Elizabeth froze and then quickly pulled back before they noticed her presence. Pressing her back against the wall, she didn't know why but she felt overwhelmingly compelled to quickly back away from the crowd. Seeing John yesterday had been enough to throw her off-balance; she wasn't sure she could handle anything more than that.

As she doubled back, she made solid connection with another body before she even realized it.

Elizabeth recovered, identified the person she'd run into, and froze. "Hey," she managed to greet. "Wow. I wasn't expecting..."

Rodney McKay offered her a strained smile, obviously as thrown as she was by the encounter. "Yeah," he mumbled, his gaze nervously flittering about behind her towards the kitchen. He glanced back at her, and his smile tightened. "Uh, you know us. We just love to surprise."

\--X--

If a person needed to know one thing about a werewolf pack, it was that it had a hierarchy.

Elizabeth had been acknowledged as the top Alpha female almost from the moment she'd been bitten. It was the way a pack worked. They functioned within a rank, established through dominancy in things like intelligence, physical strength, control and self-discipline. There was an innate need to form this structure, and at the top of their pack was John. Once upon a time, Elizabeth had been one step below him. They all looked to her for guidance and authority; the chain of command followed as strictly as one would have seen in the military.

When Elizabeth left, some of the members reluctantly accepted it. Others hadn't.

Rodney was always one of the ones that hadn't.

As she watched Rodney now while he swiftly went about preparing two cups of coffee for them in his dingy little room, she quietly re-tucked a wisp of hair behind her ear and remembered how animated he used to get when he sought her approval. John may have been the Alpha male of the group, but for some reason Rodney had always been quicker to follow her orders than any of his. John and Rodney acted more like squabbling children with each other than anything else.

Elizabeth found herself briefly wondering how they managed to get along without her there to pull them back from doing something too reckless. But she had no right to ponder such things; not when she was the one that decided to leave.

"John got to you just after the explosion," Rodney explained, "before even the police had shown up. We brought you here to heal." He waved a dismissive hand around the room. "This place – it's horrific, isn't it? Our accommodations while we're in Atlantis. We couldn't get our old place back because it's been torn down, and Sheppard seems to think this is just fine. Never mind that I have a crippling case of allergies that acts up around dust, and yesterday there was a rat the size of my head gnawing on the mattress--"

"What about Sumner?" Elizabeth stopped him.

"He's fine." Rodney waved another dismissive hand. "At the hospital. Scraps, bruises, and a nasty bump to the head. Who knows? Maybe it'll improve his intelligence?"

Elizabeth repressed a sigh, and then shot Rodney another questioning look. "And why am I not in a hospital as well?"

Rodney's attention was riveted on the sugar as he scooped it into the cups. "We decided, you know… since the werewolf thing, that medical assistance was best confined to those we could trust. Carson came by and visited you earlier while you were out, but you were already healing at the time. I can call him again, if you want?"

Elizabeth didn't buy that explanation for a second. "Rodney, what's the real reason I'm not in a hospital?"

Silence settled, thick and heavy, and Rodney squirmed. She was well familiar with his twitches and tells, as the man was always terribly obvious when keeping secrets. She could always get him to cave within seconds, and while a strange sense of déjà vu threatened to overwhelm her, Elizabeth steeled her voice and adopted a demeanor she hadn't used since stepping down as the Alpha female.

"Rodney," she goaded. "What's going on?"

Rodney grimaced. "Um, you know, that's really something you should probably discuss with Sheppard." She released a forceful breath and reluctantly pulled herself to her feet, but Rodney stopped her. "Don't beat him up about this one, Elizabeth. He's doing the right thing."

That got a raised eyebrow. It wasn't often that Rodney defended John. He usually just sat back and enjoyed watching the other man squirm.

She shook her head, feeling a foreboding sense twist coils in her stomach. "Whatever's going on, it's bad, isn't it?"

Rodney gave her a pointed look. "I like to think the explosion speaks for itself."

"What've you guys gotten yourselves into now?" Her voice dropped in fatigue, "And what was Aiden doing taking vampire blood, for God's sakes?"

Rodney winched, then protested, "We didn't exactly encourage the habit! Things got a little out of control—"

"Out of control?" Elizabeth could barely do more than sputter. "So far Aiden is dead, and I was nearly killed in an explosion – an explosion that killed who knows how many people."

She paused briefly, mind drifting to Michael and all his human guards that were now dead. She'd have to tell Teyla about Michael if the Wiccan didn't already know. In the next second, Elizabeth mentally rolled her eyes at herself: of course Teyla knew. She was a clairvoyant, for God's sakes.

She rubbed her thumb and forefinger against her temple, fending off a headache. "What's going on?"

Rodney jabbed a finger behind her. "Why don't you ask him?"

Elizabeth whirled around to find John standing in the doorway. He stepped into the room and casually brushed passed her, and Elizabeth hated herself a little for having to fight off an involuntary shiver.

"It's complicated," John began briskly without greeting. "I didn't want you involved."

Elizabeth couldn't control the spike of annoyance. It apparently didn't matter that she was a detective, and that this was her city. John's overprotective streak didn't factor any of that in at all. "Don't patronize me, John."

His eyes flashed defensively. "I'm not patroni—"

"Do you have any idea how condescending you soun—"

"All right!" Rodney bellowed, planting himself in between them. "Let's all just take a deep breath and calm down."

Elizabeth took a steadying breath, needing a moment to leash her emotions before they got away from her again. When she looked back, she forced her voice calm and even, "Tell me, John."

He released a sigh and flopped down on Rodney's small bed. "Fine. What do you know so far?"

Elizabeth straddled the stool opposite of him. "Stop me when I get anything wrong. You and Aiden got into a fight a few weeks back, and he left. He came back here, and ended up using vampire blood as a new kick in his system. Which begs the question, how is he getting that? Vampires aren't the type to give it freely. So that means he went through trouble to get it." She paused, glancing back towards Rodney, who was resting a hip against his desk. "He kidnapped a vampire for it, didn't he?"

"A couple," Rodney acknowledged with a grimace.

Elizabeth let her eyes drift closed. "God."

"It gets worse," John added darkly. "He wasn't working alone, and they took so many vampires that eventually the bloodsuckers began to notice."

She flashed him a tight expression, suddenly seeing the pieces fall into place. "So that's where Michael came in? He must have been looking for retribution, and the explosion—"

"I figure it was a preemptive strike," John agreed. "Get Mickey-boy before he gets them."

God, she was walking into the middle of a paranormal turf war. Werewolves and vampires weren't normally the type to get along. Everybody knew that. It was fundamental and written into their blood in much the same way that cats and dogs never got along. But this? This was beyond that. If the two most powerful factions in Atlantis began a feud, it could easily turn into a war that could split the city in half, tearing it apart in the process.

"Do you know the people Aiden was working with?"

Rodney passed Elizabeth her cup of coffee. "No, but they're Neanderthals. They make a lot of noise. I doubt they'll manage to stay hidden for long."

Elizabeth clutched the warm mug between her hands, fingers interlacing as she thought over everything. "How long have you guys known about this? The missing vampires? The drugs? How long have you known Aiden was mixed up in all of it?"

John and Rodney exchanged glances. "A few weeks," Rodney mumbled into his cup as he took a sip.

A few weeks, Elizabeth thought numbly. The road for war was being laid down in her city for weeks now, and she didn't have the first clue. None of the vampires had said anything, and though she suspected the explosion had garnered mass attention, the rest of her department was probably wading through an incoherent mess right now. They wouldn't even know where to begin.

She refocused on John. "And you never thought to tell me about this?"

John set his lips in a thin line and avoided looking at her. "You're not gonna like the answer, but I didn't want you involved. I didn't want the vampires to see you as a threat."

Elizabeth found another question had answered itself. "That's why you didn't let me go to the hospital. You're afraid the vampires will come after me now, because I'm a werewolf?"

John licked his lips and added, "A werewolf that was at the scene of the explosion. A werewolf who's kin with Ford. I didn't want to risk you being on your own."

"I'm a cop," Elizabeth insisted, eyes narrowing. "They'd be stupid to come after me."

A dark look crossed his face. "That's not something I wanted to risk."

"That's not your decision to make!"

John climbed to his feet, scowling. "Damn right it is," he insisted harshly. "Look, Elizabeth, you may not like it but your safety is still my responsibility!"

She stood so he wasn't looming over her. "John—"

He got right in her face. "I let Ford walk away, and look what happened. I am _not_ letting the same thing happen to you."

She swallowed the first retort on her lips and jerked away. Behind her, Rodney stood in uncomfortable silence, glancing back and forth between the two. Elizabeth was struck with another wave of déjà-vu. This was exactly how it'd been before she left. The never ending fights. The constant failure for John to see eye-to-eye with her on anything. Even after all this time, he still didn't get that he couldn't protect her from everything.

It hadn't been his right to cover up her killing then, and it wasn't his right to shield her now.

She took a deep breath, and reconnected her gaze. "I'm going to do my job, John. I'm going to go find out what happened to Aiden and to Michae—"

"Eliza—"

"And I'm going to help you, even though you didn't ask for it," she finished. She turned back to Rodney. "Rodney, get my gun and my badge, and another set of clothes. Something presentable, please?"

Rodney paused, unsure gaze flittering between the two, and then he swiftly nodded. "Yes, I'll just… ah, get those things for you."

He quickly darted out of the room, the door slamming shut behind him, and that left John and Elizabeth alone. It was easier dealing with his proximity than it had been yesterday, but Elizabeth still maintained as much distance as she could in the small space. Quietly, she regarded him with a piercing gaze for one long beat.

"What?" John snapped.

She fought to keep her voice even, "I'm only going to say this once, because I'm getting tired of repeating myself."

John stopped her before she could continue. "I'm only doing what's in our nature, Elizabeth. You're one of us. No amount of denial is ever going to change that."

"John," she sighed, and shook her head. "One of these days, you're going to have to learn to trust me."

His expression grew incredulous. "I do."

"Do you? Do you really? Because then you're going to have to trust my decisions. Trust me to take care of myself."

He shook his head. "It's not that simple."

Frustrated, she whirled on her heels and began striding away, but before she left she paused briefly, hand fisting around the doorknob. Except she couldn't think of anything to say that wouldn't just entice more arguments. Sighing as she swung open the door and cleared the room without a backward glance, it oddly felt like nothing had changed in the last two years at all. They were still two vastly different people, as opposite as yin and yang. Black and white. War and peace.

And she was still walking away from him.

It hurt like hell.

\--X--

She cleaned herself up and changed, feeling mostly at ease as she slipped into something that didn't have John's scent all over it. It must have been Cadman's clothes, as she couldn't think of another female in the pack that was near her size. She pulled on a green sweater and a pair of well-worn jeans, before strapping on her holster and slipping her gun into place.

When she emerged from her room, Rodney was waiting for her.

"Here's your phone," Rodney offered as he handed off a slightly charred metal plastic that formerly looked like her cell. She dangled it by the corner, and arched an eyebrow at him. "Explosion," Rodney explained defensively. "I managed to do the impossible and salvage the piece, mostly. Be thankful. I updated the contacts so you have our numbers. Oh, and you probably have to bellow like a banshee into the mouthpiece if you want anybody to understand you worth a lick, but it should work until you get a new phone."

 _Terrific._ "Thanks, Rodney."

"There's also a car waiting out front," Rodney said. "You can take that."

"Keys?"

He paused for a moment. "You'll find them in the ignition."

She nodded slowly, and started walking ahead before she realized that Rodney wasn't following her. She turned back, and the somber expression on his face informed her that he had something on his mind. "What is it, Rodney?"

When he spoke, his voice wasn't angry or heated, but there was still a sting behind it. "You left a mess when you walked away, Elizabeth. You do know that, right?"

She shook her head and expelled a breath. "John's a big boy—"

"I'm not talking about John," Rodney cut in harshly, advancing. In three long strides he was face-to-face with her. "Not everything is about Kirk. When you left, you didn't just leave John. You left all of us, Elizabeth. The least you could do is acknowledge that."

Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth, unable to formulate a response.

"You left a mess when you walked away," Rodney pressed with fire in his eyes. "I never understood why." He couldn't, Elizabeth knew, because John was the only one that knew about her killing. "I never came close, but you left and we're finally…" he trailed off, losing momentum for a second. After a brief pause he continued in a softer, more dejected tone, "we're _finally_ moving on. Don't damage that now. Not if you're just going to walk away again."

She realized abruptly that he saw her as an outsider now, someone that he needed to protect the pack against. The thought made her throat constrict.

Before she could recover with a response, Rodney turned and began striding away from her. She was left speechless in the middle of the hallway, staring at his retreating form with a quiet pain settling in her chest. He had never spoken to her like that before. Although Rodney was known for his short temper and stinging tongue, he had never before raised his voice against Elizabeth.

Gathering herself together, she wove through the hallways and left the building in a somber mood. When she emerged outside, the weather was dark and gloomy which matched her disposition perfectly. To add to the atmosphere, there was only one vehicle in the parking lot, and John was sitting in the driver's seat with the engine running.

She paused briefly, but she was too damn tired to argue anymore. She climbed into the passenger seat without a single protest. "Just don't kill us with your speeding," she pleaded.

John rolled his eyes. "I don't drive _that_ fast."

Elizabeth stared at him, letting the absurdity of that statement speak for itself. "Let's just go to Teyla's place," she tried instead, as she snapped her seatbelt into place. "I want to ask her a few questions."

John shifted the gear into drive, and tossed her a grin. "I was going to suggest the same thing."

\--X--

By the time they were nearing Teyla's place, it was getting dark outside and a light drizzle of rain was washing over the streets gently. As she rested her head against the cool windows, her breath fogged the glass as she numbly watched the scenery flash by. The day was fast disappearing into the ether and Elizabeth felt like she had nothing to show for it besides one charred cell phone and an ex-boyfriend that had somehow taken the place of her partner.

When she called Sumner, despite a hazy reception and a few colorful words he had chosen in regards to her present company, she could tell he was relatively fine. "Easy for you to say, you don't have to deal with the burns."

She glanced down at her hands, noting the redness had long gone. "You're just getting old," she goaded. "Go. Get your beauty rest."

"Yeah, just don't get blown up again. Whatever's going on, it's bad and I'm not there to watch your back."

She covertly glanced sideways at John. "Yeah, don't worry. I'll talk to you later."

"Keep me updated," Sumner instructed somberly before he hung up.

As she snapped her phone shut, John spoke up, "So, is Sumner still as sweet as sunshine like I remember?"

She gave him a warning look, then eased it with a smile. "He misses you, too."

John rolled his eyes and swerved the car into the parking lot. They hadn't had an argument during the entire twenty minute car ride here, which had to be a good sign. He managed to clog all reason and rationale, but if she planned on getting through the next few days and unraveling this mess, she needed to be on her toes. Elizabeth took a deep breath and climbed out of the car, charging herself with the task of remaining civilized with John. She had the full intentions of succeeding, too. Even if it killed one of them in the process.

She strode ahead of John towards the back entrance, pushing the heavy oak door aside as the smell of incense and cedar oil wafted into the air. Teyla was nowhere in sight, but that wasn't unusual as the store was often left unattended, especially this late in the day. The thing that _was_ unusual was that the entrance to Teyla's private quarters was left wide open.

Teyla never left that door open.

A person had to pass a blood test to confirm their paranormal origins before they were normally allowed entrance into that area. It was where Teyla kept all the dangerous paraphernalia.

Elizabeth stopped short, swept her gaze across the store. "Something's wrong."

John froze, followed her line of sight and caught onto her meaning. "Shit." He glanced away, at the staircase in the corner that also led up towards Teyla's private quarters. "I'll take the front," John said, as Elizabeth withdrew her gun from its holster. "You take the staircase."

She flipped off the safety and nodded to John. "I'll meet you in Teyla's kitchen upstairs."

"Elizabeth," he stopped her before she made a move.

"What?"

He hesitated, and then seemed to rethink what he was going to say. He clenched his jaw and turned to head through the doorway without a word. She watched him step passed the threshold before she shook her head, dispelling any distractions and quickly turned towards the rear staircase.

She scanned the periphery as she cautiously climbed the steps. She moved passed the sofas and oak tables in Teyla's living room, crossed the hallway and edged passed the open bedroom door. A quick glance around told her that no one was in sight, and the eerie silence permeating through the residence was only punctuated by the platter of raindrops outside.

The sound of a loud crash from the other side of the dwelling jarred the silence.

Yells, groans and shouts echoed off the walls and Elizabeth swung her aim towards the noise, enhanced her senses, and quickly followed the sounds down the hallway towards the kitchen. Before she could make it across, the plaster of the hallway wall broke apart with a hard impact. Elizabeth heard another crash from the other side of the wall.

As she stepped through the swinging door, she saw John flung across the kitchen, crash into the stove and hit his head against the blue tiled wall. Wincing in sympathy Elizabeth let her attention shift to the vampire across the room, charging against John with his fangs barred. The vampire's face was altered, disfigured with a ridged brow and dark ugly veins which stood out against his pallid skin. The features only served to make his human characteristics nearly unrecognizable.

She swung her gun and fired once, twice, hitting the vampire dead in the chest but he kept coming. Vampires were notoriously hard to wound, and even tougher to kill. And as there wasn't any available wooden stakes lying around, they were out of luck.

She fired again but the vampire barely reacted, jerking slightly with the impact of the bullets but he slammed into John. The force propelled them through the wall and into the adjoining room, plaster and splintered wood flying apart all around them. Both men landed on the ground with grunts, struggling as they traded hard blows that would have killed an ordinary man. John struck his attacker across the face with a harsh right jab, and the vampire returned a swift kick of his own.

As Elizabeth stepped up to follow them through the hole, something grabbed her from behind.

A strong but feminine arm wrapped around Elizabeth's neck in a chokehold that cut off her breathing. Elizabeth gasped for breath, dropped the gun and her fingers transformed into claws in an instant as they sunk into the forearm. Elizabeth registered a piercing scream in her ear before she was abruptly released. She dropped to her knees and whirled to find a light skinned beauty as her attacker.

Though it was unmistakable that Elizabeth's opponent was a vampire by her agility and speed, the face she bore held its human glamour. She crashed into Elizabeth, careening them onto the floor. Elizabeth barked a harsh scream as the back of her head slammed against the ground, and then she was being assaulted by blow after savage blow.

The vampire braced her arm against Elizabeth's throat and barred her teeth, displaying fangs that had sharpened into points.

"Werewolf," her attacker scoffed in disdain.

"Vampire," Elizabeth lobbied back darkly, parroting the tone.

Elizabeth stretched out her fingers and snagged a frying pan that lay clattered on the floor nearby, and swung it wildly. The blow knocked the vampire back, striking her across the face and forcing her to vamp out fully with the ugly mask of her vampire facade.

Elizabeth swung a right hook, the force behind it carried by the full weight of her werewolf strength.

"Enough!" A voice echoed through the room like thunder.

Except Elizabeth barely had have time to register it. The struggle continued, and Elizabeth threw a punch and felt a blow, and she knew across the room John was battling against his own foe. Elizabeth's arms fully transformed, muscles rippling against her skin as she called forth more strength into each one of her blows.

"I said _enough!_ "

This time, the response to the command was immediate.

The voice rippled across, stirring the molecules of air like they were shockwaves, moved by currents of psychic power. Elizabeth whirled to find Teyla standing in the entrance of what was formerly her tidy kitchen, eyes rolled over white and arms outstretched as bolts of electricity discharged from her fingertips.

"Disband," Teyla ordered, and her voice was deep and raw, imbued with power. "Disband now."

The vampire on top of Elizabeth responded to the order. She flinched and recoiled, backing away from Elizabeth quickly with an aggravated hiss. Elizabeth slowly pushed herself upright with a ragged breath and glanced across the room to find the vampire male counterpart had retreated as well.

She watched, shocked, as the hideous vampire façade of the male withdrew to reveal a human face – a familiar human face.

"Michael," Elizabeth gasped.

John dropped to his knees, bloodied and shirt torn open. "Hey, Mickey-boy," he weezed through harsh breathing, trying for nonchalance. "I thought you were dead?"

\--X--


	4. Chapter 4

\--x--

From a young age, Elizabeth always displayed a strong strength in her convictions, always certain that she could keep a level head in any situation.

There was a brief time, back when she was still a rookie in blue uniform, where her hands faltered nearly every time she drew out her weapon in the field. But those days were over, much like the innocence of youth was usually surmounted with years, experience and most likely a hefty dose of awkwardness. Elizabeth didn't see things the way she once did. She didn't have that same philosophy that had once been her world, where everything had their proper place and right was right and wrong was so clearly _evil_. Those days were before she had seen the underbelly of the world and known the creatures that went bump in the night.

Before she had become one of them.

While most thought such romantic ideology was best left outside her line of work, Elizabeth sometimes felt like her experience in Atlantis had stripped her of something invaluable; something that had once defined a fundamental part of herself. She loved Atlantis. She loved this city more than life and breath, and she'd lay down her soul to protect it, but her service and devotion had left its mark on her, and Elizabeth was never fully convinced that it was for the better.

As she stood watch that night while the group (comprised of two vampires, two werewolves and an aggravated witch) disbanded and separated into neutral quarters, Elizabeth considered overriding the tentative truce laid down. She could draw her badge to arrest these two for assaulting a police officer, at the very least. She couldn't help but think that things would have been easier if she played hardball with them, but then she also couldn't help but be reminded that once upon a time she would have always chosen finesse over the threat of force.

It was the subtle things – these changes Elizabeth saw in herself – that made her feel a sense of loss these days. She had always been so sure of herself, so sure of her place in the world and her role within it. Elizabeth wanted those old days back, but that was her problem.

She was perpetually yearning for the past, but some things were impossible to recover.

Her gaze caught on John as he flopped down on the chair beside her. His shirt was torn at the edges with blood stains seeping through the material; it seemed that the crash through the wall had left several pieces of splintered wood digging into his skin. Elizabeth only had a busted lip and a bruised abdomen, but John's injuries were the type that took an annoyingly long time to heal if he didn't pull out the splinters and disinfect the wounds first.

Wincing, he scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck and returned her scrutiny. "You all right?"

"I should be asking you that," Elizabeth retorted. "You and Michael really got into it."

The shape of Teyla's apartment in the aftermath of the fight left the words "disaster zone" ringing through Elizabeth's head. It seemed that the vampires had been seeking Teyla's help just as John and Elizabeth had been doing. They'd entered her store, intent on appealing to Teyla's diplomatic nature when John and Elizabeth had arrived armed with guns. The rest, apparently, was just vampire survival instincts taking over.

If Teyla hadn't arrived when she did, things could have progressed to a bad place very, very quickly. Now, the group was eyeing each other in distrust across the room, and Teyla was doing her best to soothe sore tempers. Easier said than done, Elizabeth sympathized.

When Teyla emerged from the other room after setting the last of the magical wards in place – the ones that ensured that any non-paranormal passing by would think nothing of the state of disarray in her apartment - she crossed the expanse to pull the curtains aside and glanced out the window. The drizzle of rain was steadily turning into a downpour, and the pitter-patter of raindrops against Teyla's metal roof shingles were like drums resonating through the old building with an indistinct beat.

Teyla expelled a sigh and murmured irritably, "We are lucky that no one was nearby to hear the commotion you four caused."

"We were just defending ourselves," the female vampire insisted, eyes flashing with anger as she perched against one of the few sturdy walls still left standing in the living room. "Werewolves were the ones that blew up Michael's mansion."

"We're not the ones that did it," John insisted.

"So you say," she hissed back.

Elizabeth tracked the vampires wearily, flinching as she rested a sore hip against the sidearm of the couch. The other woman, Elizabeth had learned, was named Chaya Sar. Elizabeth vaguely recognized her, but her familiarity was mainly by reputation only. Chaya was more influential and wealthy than Michael, owning nearly a third of the vampire territory in Atlantis. But while Michael had always offered hospitality to Elizabeth every time she had needed it, Chaya kept her distance by staying in the shadows. This was the first time Elizabeth had ever come face to face with the other woman, and what a face it was: beautiful, flawless and exotic.

"We didn't want to start any trouble," Michael said, drawing Elizabeth's attention as he idly fiddled with one of Teyla's esoteric trinkets in his hand. "We didn't come here for a fight. Just answers."

John shook his head angrily before folding his arms across his chest. He took a deep breath in an attempt to settle himself. "One question first," he muttered through clenched teeth, "I thought you blew up with your mansion?"

Chaya's expression matched John's brittle tone, "Unfortunately for you, that didn't happen."

"Chaya," Teyla warned.

The deep rumble of power beneath Teyla's warning was softer than before, but it was still unmistakable. Both vampires would play nice in Teyla's presence if they knew what was good for them. Her powers extended beyond clairvoyance, after all; into the arts of spell-binding, glamour and telekinesis. She was the most powerful and oldest witch in the western hemisphere, and only a fool would tempt to make her mad.

"These are not your enemies," Teyla continued as her lips pressed into a thin line. "You came here seeking answers, but with it comes rules. Rule number one," she paused for effect, pinning Chaya with a hard look, "do not harm my friends."

John grunted, brushing off bits of plaster from his shoulders. "I like that rule."

Teyla slid her gaze towards Michael. "You should not have attacked, Michael," Teyla continued reproachfully, but there was a distinct lack of the same harshness directed at him that Teyla had shown towards Chaya. "You should have known better."

"I didn't know the company you were keeping these days," he argued. "Trust me, I didn't go looking to pick fights with your drinking buddies."

"Perhaps as a general rule, you shouldn't hurl another person through the walls of my home?"

Michael paused, and then admitted with a sheepish shrug, "That'd probably be considered good manners. I think they may have even taught me that in charm school."

Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest, eyes tracking the byplay between the two former lovers. Michael proved to be the opposite of Chaya in every way. He roamed through Teyla's place idly like he didn't have a worry in the world, and despite her tone, something quietly informed Elizabeth that Teyla wasn't all that troubled by his antics.

Elizabeth had interacted with Michael for years now, but she wasn't any closer to understanding him than she had been on the first day they'd met. From what she'd seen, he was distinctive from all the other vampires she'd ever encountered – most cut from the same cloth as Chaya. Michael was a paradox in a lot of ways. His clothes may have been designer tailored, and he may have been worth millions of dollars, but there had always been a boy-next-door charm to him. Especially in his eyes.

A vampire's eyes should never be that human.

Michael resettled against the wall and folded his arms across his chest. "We came here for help, Teyla. Did we catch you in an obliging mood or not?"

Teyla arched an eyebrow, warning him to play nice. "I offer my help," she spoke softly. "Answers, though, are another matter. I've been sensing things, but there's some disturbance… something that is preventing my sight."

John moved forward to brace his elbows on his knees. "Something's messing with your Mojo? What's powerful enough for that?"

"I'm not sure," Teyla whispered, eyes drifting shut as she concentrated on something only she could reach. "Black magic," she breathed, and her fingers fluttered by her sides and discharged sparks of electricity between digits. "I've been sensing something for weeks now, though it's been well-hidden. Something dark and repugnant." Her eyes opened and she looked to Michael. "That was what blew up your mansion."

John climbed to his feet. "Aiden was working with people that knew dark magic?"

"I… I do not know," Teyla replied turning to him, eyes softening in the dim light with sympathy. "I think so. His death… there is a dark shroud around it. It took somebody with great physical strength to kill Aiden, but there was… there was magic in the air when he was killed."

John clenched his jaw, and then slanted a dark look towards Michael. "Do you know who killed him?"

Michael's eyes narrowed into slits, at once challenging and dangerous. "It wasn't me or any of mine."

"And I'm supposed to take your word on that?" John snapped harshly, then gestured a hand around the place. "We all know the strength of a vampire, and you seem quick enough to pick fights with werewolves."

Michael shrugged carefully and when he spoke his voice was flat and eerily detached, "Only because werewolves tried to blow me up. It makes me, you know… _irritable._ "

"Enough," Teyla expelled a breath, half her attention still elsewhere. "You're wasting time and energy arguing here. The threat is not in this room."

Chaya made a noncommittal noise and quipped, "Does your voodoo stop there, and will it provide us with something actually valuable? Like, maybe, the name and location of said threat?"

"Chaya," Michael warned.

"What?" Chaya snapped in a snide voice, whirling on him. "I'm not here for my health or to watch you make mooneyes at your ex-girlfriend. We have questions, and if she can't answer them, we're wasting daylight."

"Then leave," Teyla suggested calmly. "I am not holding you here against your will."

Chaya's eyes flashed with anger, and apparently the disrespect and inhospitality was the last straw. She clenched her jaw and inclined her head. "I knew this was a waste of time." She turned on the balls of her feet and began striding down the staircase without another word.

Michael watched her go before he turned his attention back to Teyla with a sigh. "Tey—"

"Go," Teyla interrupted, evenly. She glanced to Elizabeth and John, and then swiftly returned her gaze to Michael again. "I will call you if I get any information."

Michael hesitated for one long pause, and shared a lingering look with Teyla that made Elizabeth shift her attention elsewhere out of courtesy. When he left, Teyla didn't say anything or act any different, but Elizabeth was too observant for such things. A disquiet aura settled over the witch. It seemed Elizabeth wasn't the only one dealing with confusing emotions in regards to ex-lovers lately.

She found herself strangely sympathetic to Teyla all of a sudden.

\--x--

John went to clean himself up in the bathroom while Elizabeth helped Teyla put her apartment back in order. The kitchen was largely demolished, as was much of the living room. But Teyla waved a hand here and there, and using her gifts of telekinesis, things began settling themselves all on their own. As Elizabeth watched as a broom emerged from the closet nearby and begin sweeping across the debris under its' own command, she quirked a smile and turned back to Teyla.

"You all right?"

Teyla seemed to think that one over for a moment, then answered as she reached down to pick up the ceramic pieces of a broken mug. "I am fine." Before Elizabeth could press the issue, Teyla turned back to her. "And you?"

 _Touché._ "I'm fine, too."

Amusement lit her eyes as Teyla turned away. "I'm sure."

They took a few minutes to put things back in order, working silently side-by-side while Teyla's abilities took care of all the heavy lifting and big messes. Elizabeth was just musing to herself about the various advantages of such abilities when Teyla dropped down heavily onto the cushions of her sofa, exhausted. Her eyes drifted closed as she rested her head against the backrest, and she took several drawn out breaths.

"Teyla?" Elizabeth called, concerned.

"I…" she whispered, and lifted her head slowly, "I do not know what is going on."

The words were said as a soft confession, as if it had cost something in Teyla to admit them. Elizabeth had once been naïve enough to think that being a clairvoyant meant that answers usually came easily to her, but she learned quickly that things were more complicated than that. Knowledge and answers weren't entirely the same thing, and there were a million different ways where seeing the future had its drawbacks.

Elizabeth settled on the couch beside her. "We'll figure this one out together, then."

Teyla's attention swiveled towards Elizabeth and locked on. "Elizabeth, I must confess something. For weeks now, I have sensed the presence of a dark mage. The same one, I imagine, that stands to gain everything by aligning the vampire coven and werewolf packs against each other."

Elizabeth paused for a moment. "You think this is all one big conspiracy?"

Teyla shook her head. "Honestly, I don't know. I suspect, but there is too much disruption. I was concluding a séance downstairs in my basement when you four…" her voice twisted wryly, "you four began redecorating my apartment."

"Did you find out anything?"

"Not much. But the presence of such a dark force these last few weeks… it coincides with all this upheaval in Atlantis. I cannot ignore that."

Elizabeth's lips pressed into a thin line, troubled on several fronts. Beyond the obvious, it seemed that Teyla had also been trying her best to keep all this from her, from the law enforcement. Elizabeth only recently learned of the growing malcontent that had been simmering between paranormal factions for the last few weeks, and now there was some presence of a dark mage on top of that?

Maybe Elizabeth could have done something? Maybe the police department could have stepped in before mangled bodies and explosives were introduced into the equation? If only someone had _said_ something to her.

From the look on her face, Teyla recognized Elizabeth's ill-content. "I did not think this was a situation that the police could handle. Other than you, your entire department is made up of non-paranormals. They would not know how to handle a mage, especially one as powerful as this one."

Reluctantly, Elizabeth conceded that. "What are you going to tell Michael?"

"The truth," Teyla responded instantly, and then her voice dropped again, "But I know Michael. I have seen him be kind and loving, but he can also be merciless and exacting when his people are threatened. I've never known a man to be of such two natures. I do not want him to…"

"Go looking for trouble?" Elizabeth finished, thinking of John.

"This mage is powerful," Teyla confessed, "Perhaps too powerful."

"Is this…" Elizabeth began, then trailed off. She took a breath and continued, "Is this mage more powerful than you?"

"Powerful?" Teyla breathed, "Maybe. But it is not the amount of power that concerns me the most. If the rank odor of black magic is anything to go by, he is not one to show caution or restraint. He will not curb his powers, which means he will do things that I am not willing to do." She paused, and her voice grew distant and grave, "Did you know, magic can turn so black it can reverse life on itself? It can even undo death."

Elizabeth's eyes widened slightly. "You're talking about necromancy."

She didn't know much about the art of necromancy, as it was thankfully a largely lost and forgotten art that had disappeared over the centuries. Necromancy was the magic that could control the dead, effectively bringing them up out of their graves to do their master's bidding. It wasn't like zombie movies, where they had decaying skin and a penchant for violence. It took a mage of extraordinary power to control the dead, and Elizabeth knew of century old stories where additional glamour and spells made the dead look like regular human begins. They ate, talked, walked, and breathed as normally as the living. A few of them even believed themselves to be so.

The more powerful the master, the more believable the puppet.

Only a handful in the world were capable of it. Teyla was perhaps one of them, but she'd never dare touch such dark magic. That fact that she believed this other mage in town was capable of it made Elizabeth more concerned than anything else so far.

Teyla scrubbed a hand through her hair, released a shuddering breath which dissolved quickly into a harsh laugh.

Elizabeth threw her a bewildering look. "What's so funny?"

"Don't you see," Teyla replied, shaking her head as she climbed to her feet, "our ex-boyfriends may in fact be the least of our worries."

\--x--

Elizabeth pressed a hand against her temple, feeling that annoying migraine above her right eye threatening to return with a vengeance. It had been a long couple of days, and though Elizabeth knew the path ahead of her was just as rocky, if not more so, she already felt the weariness settling into her bones. But that didn't do a thing to stop her mind from racing as she paced restlessly through Teyla's apartment.

Her feet halted, and she glanced back to the spare bedroom where John was tending to his wounds. She hesitated as a strange mix of sympathy and concern overwhelmed her. A part of it was just a primal reaction to the scent of his blood in the air as the werewolf responded to the pain of her mate, but there was another part, equally as strong, that was all Elizabeth Weir, the woman.

Feeling emotionally and physically drained, Elizabeth didn't think much before she wandered down the hallway and pushed the door aside. Her gaze swept through the small space and the room was only illuminated by the thin sliver of light that escaped through the connecting bathroom. Inside, John seemed oblivious to her presence, so when Elizabeth walked into the bedroom and stepped lightly across, her observations of him went unnoticed.

He was shirtless, and even as he twisted to apply ointment to some unreachable spot on his back, scrapes and bruises tarnishing the smooth lines of his muscles, her gaze focused on the details of his body, taking a moment to notice the changes. Elizabeth studied his broad shoulders, and her gaze traveled down the familiar contours of his chest to his toned abdomen. She realized that he had gained a few pounds since the last time she had seen him like this, mostly muscle. And though he had grown stronger over the years, it was obvious by his current exploits that he was still as inflexible as ever.

Watching him strain to reach the cuts on his back, Elizabeth smothered a smile. "Something tells me Teyla never got you to take those yoga lessons with her?"

She could tell her voice startled him, but when he turned back, he covered it up with a quick grin. "Teyla tried. It didn't take."

Elizabeth nodded, amused. "Do you want me to help?"

John hesitated for a second, surprise blooming in his eyes before he could cover it up. Elizabeth couldn't blame him for that considering she'd been doing her best to avoid any semblance of contact with him thus far. She was growing too tired to raise the defenses she was normally supposed to have around him. It was foolish to hope for things to be neat and tidy between them, but Elizabeth hated what had become of them. She hated being forced to be so cold and distant with a man that had formerly been everything to her. There had to be some middle ground between the hostility they currently wielded and the… affection they'd had from _before_.

She waived a hand and gestured again for him to come closer. "I promise I won't bite."

That drew a smirk. "That's not incentive."

She rolled her eyes as he stepped into the bedroom and obediently settled on the edge of the mattress. Silently, John handed her the supplies while Elizabeth set out to apply the medication. His back was looking far better than before, but there were still several splinters of wood ingrained in his flesh. She winced in sympathy, and reached for the pair of tweezers resting on the bedside table.

"This is gonna hurt," she murmured to him.

"It always does," John whispered softly.

Elizabeth froze, because the way he said that made her think he wasn't talking about his injuries at all. After a brief pause, she refocused on her task and began to dig the splintered wood out of his back. He hissed a few times in pain, but other than that they worked mostly in a hushed atmosphere. Except Elizabeth had a difficult time not focusing on the feel of John's skin under her touch, so she found herself looking for a distraction.

Thinking back to their earlier fight, Elizabeth felt a trickle of remorse taint her frustrations with him. She knew she goaded him into fighting just as much as he antagonized her. It was exasperating, but she supposed it came with the territory of being ex-lovers. They brought out the worst in each other sometimes.

Still, she hated hurting him and lately that seemed all she was capable of doing.

"About earlier," she began softly, and she felt John stiffen underneath her hands. "I'm… I'm sorry. I know you were just looking out for me, and I appreciate your concern." She sighed. "I just wish you'd understand that I can take care of myself now."

John was silent for a moment. "I know, but I just can't help it, Elizabeth. It was written into my damn DNA the day I was bitten."

She suspected John had been the overprotective type well before becoming a werewolf, but she had no way of proving that. Just gut instincts. She let the remark slide without comment and focused instead on wiping away a trail of blood that had worked its way down his lower back. As she brought the cloth away, smeared with redness, she paused again as she inhaled the scent.

His aroma suddenly turned overwhelming, mixed with sweat, musk and that copper tang of blood. Above it all was that other scent, that one that could be called by no other name but _John_. It stirred something inside of her, something entirely primal in origin. It took that sliver of control she had, and tested it against the weight of her feelings for this man, against the strength of her denial.

Her gaze shifted to the window as they flashed yellow in desire. The rain had finally stopped and the clouds were clearing away to reveal a nearly full moon. She stared at the skyline, clenching the darkened cloth between her fingers, and silently remembered a time when the moon had just been another common thing in her mundane life. She'd never looked twice at it before, never stared at its imperfect face and considered its significance and meaning in the greater scheme of things.

Now, the moon represented so much Elizabeth could barely formulate it into words.

Without even thinking, she turned back to him and slowly stretched out a hand. Her fingertips brushed against John's nape and worked back across his scalp before she even realized what she was doing. Her fingers dragged through thick hair as John closed his eyes and his head dipped forward, groaning softly in surprise and pleasure. But he didn't move. He just rested there, still under her hands as she stroked his tousled hair slowly, leisurely.

This one touch and she was gone, spiraling out of control, not caring, not thinking. Just wanting one thing – more contact with him. Her eyes drifted closed, and she silently whispered to herself that she needed to regain control.

Except his hands found her hips, and slowly he tugged her around the corner of the mattress and into the space between his legs. Slowly, without deliberate intent, like she was watching someone else move her hands, someone else control her body, she kept stroking John's hair in encouragement. He lifted his head and watched her intently with expressive eyes, perhaps even giving her a reprieve to pull away. She could tell he was trying to figure out what was going on in her head; where the new boundaries lay; where she wanted him to stop. Honestly, Elizabeth wasn't sure herself.

When he leaned forward and nuzzled his face against the warmth of her belly, just inhaling the scent of her, Elizabeth's eyes slammed shut, body fighting off a dark shiver that worked up her spine. His fingers found the space between her shirt and her pants, fingertips brushing her skin lightly before he pushed the materials further apart. When he dragged a hot, wet mouth across her exposed navel, she couldn't stop herself from jumping a little. The intensity of it was instantaneous, and the drugged effect it had on her shot through her like wildfire. She arched into his touch, back curving like a bow as her hand wrapped around the nape of his neck, fingers stroking, goading him on.

It suddenly didn't matter that Elizabeth had been trying to resist just _this_ for years now. It didn't matter that she had locked herself in a cage just yesterday to avoid taking this man to bed. It was strange, but all her reasons and rationales had been silenced without even a whisper of protest.

It just took a few brief moments where her guard had been down and they were suddenly like this as if any resistance had been pointless all along.

"Elizabeth," he breathed darkly, and she had forgotten the power of him saying her name like that by half.

"Don't talk," Elizabeth pleaded.

She didn't want to talk, because talking led to thinking, and thinking would make her realize the mistake they were making. And neither of them wanted that, not now, not in this second.

She leaned forward, down, and captured his lips with hers. The embrace began slow and languid, and that surprised Elizabeth a little considering she thought such a reunion should have been heralded by lust, anger, and a fierceness they had displayed plenty times before when making love. Instead, the kiss was soft and smooth, lips moving sensuously against each other before parting. It was her tongue and not his that pushed inside and demanded a response. It was _her_ and not _him_ that closed the distance between their bodies as she moved to straddle his lap.

It was Elizabeth, and not John, that damned them on this one.

Not that John was complaining. She wrapped her arms around him, bringing them chest-to-chest, and John shifted into action within a moment's breath. He knew exactly what to do, how to move, how to draw a reaction from her from the instant their bodies collided. Her moan spilled between their lips and spurred John past any lingering inhibitions. His touch was just like she remembered – overwhelming and powerful as he moved his hands up to thread through her hair. The first kiss turned into a second, and melted into a third, and things quickly heated up as the energy between them charged and ignited.

She edged them back against the mattress, pushing him flat as her body moved to settle on top of his. Though she had hardly set out to seduce him, she dimly realized that was exactly what she had done. She could feel the length of John's hard arousal against her thigh, and her own body was warming, already wet and flustered with desire in the matter of minutes.

John had always driven her insane in the bedroom, just as much as he drove her out of her mind outside of it.

She rubbed her body against his, making him groan harshly, and Elizabeth's eyes slammed shut. His voice like that had haunted her dreams for so many damn nights. Without even trying, John - the _bastard_ \- had made the prospect of all other men pale in comparison. Though she'd stubbornly claimed to have moved on, she'd never stopped thinking of him when she'd touched herself - craving his fingers in place of her own; craving his body when hers broke out into heat every month; craving him when she was curled up alone in bed, trying to comfort herself with reasons and platitudes.

When he broke off the kiss, Elizabeth was too breathless and lightheaded to immediately realize that he was desperately tugging open her blue collared shirt until the buttons snapped off with the tension. Her shirt pooled around her shoulders to reveal a modest black bra underneath, and John's mouth closed over her exposed collarbone. She released a deep, shuddering moan as John's mouth claimed her skin. She whimpered when he hit a particularly sweet spot against the pulse of her neck, and the mate within her growled with need.

"Shh, baby," he murmured gently against her neck as he trailed hot, wet kisses along her collarbone. "I'm here. I'm here."

In the next second she found herself flipped on her back. The swift change left John looming over her and the reversal in position put him in control. She yielded willingly. She reached for the hilt of his belt, but he slowed her down, callused fingers stilling the desperate movements of her own.

"You won't regret this, will you?"

Elizabeth didn't register the words; or more likely, she didn't want to. "Shut up, John."

She pulled him down for a bruising kiss, feeling him groan when her tongue darted out to slip inside his mouth. She twisted her hand through his hair, yanking him down hard so his body settled more firmly on top of her, gladly taking the full weight of his body. When she broke off the kiss once oxygen became an issue, her lips were already swollen and red.

She reached for his belt again, but again, he stopped her when his hands wrapped around hers tightly. "John," she growled in frustration.

"Elizabeth," he breathed, and waited until her gaze locked on his eyes. His stare was dark with carnal desire, but there was a spark of something else in them too. Something somber and serious. "Are you going to regret this in the morning?"

She shook her head. "Don't do this, John."

"Do what?"

She groaned in frustration, and the spike of desperation that suddenly surged through her shocked even herself with its intensity. "Don't make me think about tomorrow."

John pulled back an inch, but somehow it felt like a mile. "Why? What's going to happen tomorrow?"

She stared up at him, and it hurt, it hurt like hell, but she knew she didn't even have to respond. Her answer was plainly written across her face. They wouldn't stay together. This night wouldn't change a thing. Come morning, all the reasons she had for being apart from him for the last two years would still be there, and one night together wouldn't change that. Tonight would be a setback – a glorious mistake, a moment of weakness that Elizabeth was willing to live with if it gave them even a moment of peace.

"Let's focus on now," she pleaded, but John paused, studying her.

His eyes were dark now; considering, too aware with knowledge. For a moment, she held her breath and waited, and then John slowly – too slowly – pressed a kiss to her lips. It was focused, but even as it deepened and pulled her in, Elizabeth felt the shift in his mood and the change in his behavior.

This was a parting kiss.

When he pulled back, his voice was a rough whisper, "When this happens – when, not if – I don't want you to have any regrets. I can't have you then lose you again. Not again."

And then he abruptly pulled away from her.

She watched him climb out of bed, and the distance felt like a sharp splash of cold water. She pushed off on her elbows, rising as her damaged shirt slipped off one shoulder completely, and the cold temperature in the room suddenly registered fiercely against her exposed skin. Her eyes stayed glued to John's figure as he stepped back.

He took a deep, drawn out breath, glanced away, and his hands formed into tight fists at his sides. "This wouldn't change anything," he said, almost to himself as much as for Elizabeth. "It isn't what you need right now."

"John—"

"But it will be," he spoke over her, locking gazes again, and his voice was firm and confident - unwavering. "Wait and see, it'll be like before."

Elizabeth's eyes drifted closed, and tears suddenly threatened to well. A part of her wanted to believe him – desperately needed to – but they'd been through too much these last two years.

"Things can never be like before, John."

When she opened her eyes again, she was surprised to see John smirking, though it was a little tight around the edges. "Oh, ye of little faith," he quipped softly.

He scrubbed a hand through his hair and released another forceful breath, and then turned, striding away from her with tense shoulders. Elizabeth was struck speechless in his wake, unable to regroup or even fully comprehend John's actions. She knew he wanted her as much as she wanted him in that moment, but he was still walking away from her. That… that was a scenario she had never imagined happening before.

He stopped short of the doorway, and with his back to her, spoke with a feigned nonchalance, "But that's alright. For now, I guess I've got enough faith for the both of us."

The door creaked shut after him.

\--x--


	5. Chapter 5

_  
"Shape without form, shade without color,  
Paralyzed force, gesture without motion..._

Let me be no nearer  
In death's dream kingdom  
Let me also wear  
Such deliberate disguises."

Elizabeth stared at the words written across the cream colored pages of her book, and then slowly closed the spine as she rested back against her couch. The old withered hardback was one Elizabeth bought more than a decade ago, as a passing fancy when she'd casually perused a small used bookstore downtown. It wasn't much to look at. The spine was crinkled and creased, her favorite poems marked with dog-ears, and the book itself was closer to the hundredth edition rather than the first. She suspected there were a million and one other copies like it out in the world, many of them in better shape than her own.

Still, despite all the imperfections, Elizabeth cherished this book. Her favorite poem among the collections inside was one by T.S. Eliot, titled "The Hollow Man." Though she'd read it so many times that the lyrics flowed easily by memory, there was something comforting about holding the pages between her fingers as she whispered the words aloud.

The words spoke of loss and confusion and she suspected the wounds of Eliot's own crumbling marriage; to Elizabeth, they resonated a little too deeply.

She drew in a deep breath, and reached across to slip the book back into its cove where all her other books rested in her cabinet. It was past midnight, almost a full week since she'd last seen John, and despite the time and space afforded, her thoughts never strayed far from him. They hadn't spoken since that night – that night where she had all but _begged_ him to sleep with her.

One day in his presence had somehow managed to undue nearly two years of careful construction of defenses and armor.

Suddenly Elizabeth felt as lost and confused as she'd ever felt.

Work wasn't providing the distraction usually afforded to her. She'd tried every lead, hunted down every snitch, followed up on every clue and called in every favor. No one in town knew anything about Aiden's death, the vampire blood marketing, or the presence of this new dark mage Teyla spoke of. And if they did, they certainly weren't talking to Elizabeth about it.

The investigation had come to a grinding halt, and though she was now back at home, getting ready for bed, her mind swam with things left unfinished back at the precinct. It was also the first day Sumner had returned from his forced five day medical leave. He hadn't taken to the rest well, and though Elizabeth knew he wouldn't listen, she'd been nagging him all day to go easy on himself. But it was like trying to get a dog to release a piece of meat after he had his teeth sunk in – it wasn't going to happen without a fight.

She climbed to her feet and reached for her cell phone, hitting the first speed dial as she padded across the carpet in white bunny slippers. "Marshall," she began in a curt tone, "Tell me you're still not at the precinct."

"I'm not still at the precinct."

She sighed heavily. "Where are you?"

"At the precinct," he answered curtly, unrepenting. "I was just about to go home, but Bates brought in some asshole about an hour ago. Might be of interest to you."

She stopped pacing, the lecture on the tip of her tongue dying without a fight. "Why? Who is he?"

"Some guy that was stalking a group of Kenmore's vampires. He'd, apparently, been taking surveillance footage of them for days. Also, the trunk of his car was jam-packed with enough illegal ammunition and gun power to start a small civil war."

Her mind was already racing and formulating a barrage of questions.

"I was rummaging through his other possessions just before you called," Sumner continued. "He's got a rucksack full of film, a detailed planner that's tracked their every movement for the last two weeks, and this guy? Is damn good about not being noticed. The vamps didn't notice him, and they're not usually the oblivious type."

"Who called the cops on him?"

"Nobody," Sumner replied, and she could hear the percolation of the precinct's coffee pot in the background. "Bates got lucky and spotted him. Picked him up, and I've been letting him stew in the interrogation room for a while before I talk to him. Though he doesn't look much like the type to sweat."

That got a raised eyebrow. "What does he look like?"

"Like a fuckin' tank," Sumner answered bluntly with some admiration in his voice.

Even as Elizabeth climbed the stairs, eager to change quickly so she could get back to work, she couldn't help the teasing voice, "You don't have to sound so impressed with that, Marshall."

"Just sayin'…"

Elizabeth pushed aside her bedroom door, asking, "You check his record?"

"Yeah. That's the really weird thing. For a guy that has a boatload of illegal guns in his position, his record is as clean as a whistle."

He was a smart criminal, then. She much preferred the dumb ones.

"What's his name?" Elizabeth asked.

"Ronon Dex."

\--x--

The interrogation could have been going better.

From the moment she first saw Ronon lounging back in that flimsy interrogation chair, she already knew two things about him. The first, Sumner was right. He was big - all muscles and hard lines, the type of strength she usually only saw imbued in other paranormals. He lounged in the chair like a lion lounged in his cage, deadly and casual all in one stance. She suspected his mane of wild dreadlocks lent credence to such an analogy.

But the mark on his neck, a tattoo of a familiar sort, not only clearly identified him as human, but as something else as well.

Ronon Dex served as a human servant to a vampire.

"Used to," Ronon corrected with a harsh bark when Elizabeth voiced the observation. "I don't anymore."

Progress, Elizabeth thought as she leaned back in her chair opposite him, studying Ronon under the harsh florescent lighting. Those were the first words she'd managed to pry from his lips since stepping foot into the room. He hadn't asked for an attorney yet, but he was taking full advantage of his right to remain silent.

It was obvious she had struck a nerve, and Elizabeth decided to pounce while she could. "Yeah? I always thought once a servant, always a servant to them."

Ronon's eyes flashed with a warning, but otherwise there was an eerie stillness about him. "I'm nobody's slave."

She'd used the word servant, but his definition did a lot to help her understanding. She rapped her fingers against the tabletop, eyeing him with a tilt of her head. "So, then, you've got history with the vampires. Bad history, obviously."

"There is no other type with their kind." He paused, sniffed the air once, and then glanced at her with his interest peaked. "What are you? Not fully human, that's for damn sure. Don't smell it."

Elizabeth stiffened, then shook her head. "Interesting sense of smell. Where'd you get it?"

 _What are you?_

"Human," Ronon answered her unasked question. "I'm human, just not normal."

 _That makes two of us,_ she almost wanted to say.

He wasn't a werewolf, she could tell that much; didn't have any pheromones for it. But there was something about this man, something she couldn't put a finger on, that made her suspect he wasn't a guy you wanted to cross lightly. More so than his alarming arsenal collection or the massive muscles he boasted, there was something dark about this seemingly ordinary human being that made Elizabeth incredibly uneasy.

Somehow, he felt more dangerous than most of the paranormals she'd ever met.

Calmly, she eyed him, growing surer by the minute that she had the right man. Though Elizabeth would be the first to concede his hostility against vampires may have been justified for all she knew – vampires rarely had a clean past – it was obvious this man was a threat. He'd been following the vampires for weeks now, which meant he'd been in town during both the explosion and Aiden's death.

She didn't get a mage vibe off of him, but then again that was Teyla's domain, not hers.

She lifted her head, eyeing his hulking frame, and asked bluntly, "Why'd you do it?"

"Do what?"

"The explosion," Elizabeth spoke, leaning forward, eyes turning cool as she leveled a hard glare. "What did Michael do to you? Why'd you blow his place up?"

Ronon's lips curled into a feral grin. "That's wasn't me, though I won't lie. I didn't exactly shed any tears over the blast."

"Michael's still alive."

It was Ronon's turn to stiffen. Elizabeth astutely realized that though he'd been following vampires for the past week, Michael wasn't on his list. That surprised her. Michael hadn't made his survival any closeted secret. He'd been camped outside of Atlantis for the past week, easily traceable to those interested enough to look.

Why would a man go through all the trouble of blowing up Michael's place, then not follow through on confirming the dead? And what was Ronon doing following other vampires in the meantime?

That feral grin melted away, and he slumped back in his chair, throwing an arm across the back of it. He shrugged casually. "Too bad. The world was almost a better place."

"You know Michael?"

"No."

She shifted and the florescent lighting from the ceiling shone into her eyes. "Then why do you want him dead?"

"Because that's the natural order of things," Ronon replied with an even stare. "It ain't right for them to be up and walking around, is it? The dead should stay in the ground."

She braced her elbows on the table. "Look, Ronon, I don't know what game you're play—"

"Game?" he growled harshly, the word striking another nerve. "You don't know anything about their games. I spent seven years of my life playing them—"

"As their servant, right?" Elizabeth nodded towards his tattoo. "Whose mark is that? Whose property were you for those seven years?"

Ronon shook his head. "What the hell are you doing anyway? I thought you were a cop. Isn't it your job to protect people?"

"I am."

"They're not people!" Ronon growled, slamming a hand against the tabletop. "You should be protecting their victims. Their food. Instead you're in here with me like I'm the bad guy."

"You are," Elizabeth retorted. "Good guys don't carry Mk-19 grenade launchers."

The man brought his gaze to hers and held it. "This one does, and if you knew the good I was doing, you'd thank me. Not get in my way."

"Why? What good are you doing out there? Killing vampires? Making bombs?" She paused, before breathing, "Using black magic?"

He threw her an incredulous look and glanced away, and Elizabeth realized she'd lost ground with him by guessing wrong. No black magic then. Not for him.

"Look, forget it." He forced out a harsh breath. "Whoever you are, whatever you are, you're not on the right side."

That evoked her annoyance. "Says the criminal to the cop," she hissed.

"This isn't about the law," Ronon insisted. "This isn't about being a cop, or being a thug. It's about right and wrong. Good and evil. You're either with the bloodsuckers or against them."

She stared at him for a moment, and when she spoke, her voice was carefully neutral. "You know what? Vampires generally don't inspire my sympathy, but that mansion had humans in them. Human _slaves_ ," she hissed, emphasizing his label. "That's murder, do you understand me? Human murder."

For the first time in the entire conversation, Ronon flinched and looked away. "Like I said before," he said eventually when he returned her gaze, voice losing some of its bark, "that wasn't me."

She shook her head in exasperation. "I don't believe you."

He shrugged, dropped a hand onto his thigh as he leaned back again. "Don't expect you to, but that doesn't change the truth. I'm not the man you're looking for. I had nothing to do with that explosion." He paused, studying her quietly before he spoke again and the gravity of his words knocked her off guard. "And I had nothing to do with your kin's death."

Every hair on the back of her neck stood on end. "You knew Aiden."

"Never met him, but I knew of him," he countered. "Heard on the street that a werewolf had been killed a few days back."

"How did you know he was my kin?"

He smiled a smug grin. "You just told me."

She paused for a beat. "Why should I believe you?"

"You'll find all the proof you need, in my bag. My footage. Look. See for yourself. I'm not the man responsible for any of this."

For a lingering moment, Elizabeth tried to get a better fix on him. She suddenly wasn't sure of anything when moments ago she'd been positive he was the man she'd been looking for. Now, abruptly, she felt like she'd only found another piece of the puzzle.

Elizabeth rose from her chair and retreated to the exit, but before she reached it, Ronon stopped her in her tracks.

"I got no beef with werewolves," he declared. "Got none with the cops, either. For whatever it's worth, the kid – your kin – he shouldn't have died like that." She turned back to him, and his next words surprised her more than anything else he'd said so far. "I'm sorry for your loss."

\--x--

Hours later, Elizabeth knew one answer at least. Just like Ronon insisted, his footage proved his innocence on both the explosion and Aiden's death. It was clear from his precise and detailed surveillance that Ronon had been tracking another group of vampires clear on the other side of the city during both events.

Ironically, his stalking proved to be his alibi.

As Elizabeth set the VCR remote control down, keenly watching the time stamped recording on the screen opposite her, she knew she'd have to get the tape further tested to verify its authenticity. But she knew it wouldn't provide her with any doubt. Ronon wasn't the man she was looking for. There was a hint of compassion, that shred of humanity she'd seen in his eyes when he'd offered her his condolences. That hadn't been a performance for her benefit. Elizabeth was too good at reading people to fall for that.

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed in frustration. Ronon was… _unstable_ , perhaps, but he wasn't the murderer she'd been looking for. She wasn't even sure he was paranormal. He didn't smell like another paranormal, at least not to her heighten senses. For all that she knew and could prove, his only extraordinary ability was his rather disconcerting sense of smell.

It was obvious he knew things; had been following the vampires for weeks. As she continued to study the footage, Elizabeth stiffened when she saw Chaya walk onto the screen. The camera zoomed in to concentrate on her, and it was obvious by the focus that she was the main interest in the shot. Over the next two hours, she watched the tapes, one after another, as Ronon tracked vampires for days on end. It was clear by the fourth tape she'd slid into the VCR that his main object of obsession was Chaya.

She pulled up an old mugshot of another one of Chaya's servants from years ago. The thug had been put away for some petty armed robbery, but Elizabeth barely glanced at the profile, more interested in the picture that accompanied it. The servant had a tattoo.

It was the same mark that Ronon had stamped across his flesh.

So, Elizabeth concluded with a heavy sigh, Ronon had once been Chaya's servant and it had ended badly. Somehow, that didn't surprise Elizabeth much. Chaya seemed the type that failed to treat her servants well – slaves, if you went by Ronon's definition. That didn't seem too unreasonable a description. Elizabeth had always presumed that a human went willingly under such a service, but the more she thought about it, the more she realized the naivety of such a presumption.

The vampires craved power, and many of them were known to do anything to consolidate more. They wouldn't be above coercion and other nefarious means to secure their base of worshippers, then. Elizabeth tried to imagine what it would take to turn a man like Ronon into a slave, and flinched at the possibilities that sprang to mind.

A voice from the other side of the room broke though her thoughts. "Elizabeth, got something for you." Sumner walked up to her, dropping a file onto her desk and photos spilled out of the open sleeve. "More presents."

She glanced briefly at them and then up at him. "What are these?"

"Photos from Ronon's camera," Sumner answered. "I had them developed. Check them out while I go interrogate Chewbacca, would you?"

She shook her head fractionally. "He's not going to say anything to you."

"Why? Because I don't have a pretty smile like yours?"

"Because you're not a paranormal," Elizabeth answered knowingly, instinctively. "You can talk to him all day and night. He's not going to say anything more."

Sumner just shrugged. "It'll be worth a shot."

He parted, leaving Elizabeth with a huge stack of photos to muddle through. It was already getting close to sunrise, and having watched several hours of Ronon's surveillance throughout the night, she wasn't sure how much more she could take. But dutifully, repressing a sigh, she flipped the folder over and glanced at the spilled contents.

The images were shot by a high powered camera, most from across the street at long range. A few of them had more pictures of Chaya, but none were fascinating or of any particular interest. Elizabeth identified a few of the other vampires alongside Chaya, most notably when she got halfway through the stack and stumbled upon a series of them with Michael, dressed smartly in a long black coat.

Her phone rang, and absently, shuffling through several more photos, she answered the phone with a free hand. "Weir, here."

The familiar voice of Jack O'Neill answered on the other end, "You never call. You don't write. If I were a more sensitive guy, I'd be insulted."

Elizabeth smiled into the phone as her attention shifted, easing back in her cushioned chair. "Jack," she greeted with surprise, glancing at her watch. It wasn't even six in the morning yet. "You're up early."

"I could say the same thing about you. I was calling to leave a message on your answering machine."

Jack O'Neill was the Chief of Cheyenne PD, a neighboring city that had an active, hairy nightlife just like Atlantis. He'd been trying to snag Elizabeth for his own jurisdiction for years. Once upon a time, the offer had been tempting. Their environment was different from Atlantis, a lot more open and experienced with the paranormal.

Still, it was a rare thing for Elizabeth to get a call from him. "What can I do for you, Jack?"

"Actually, it's what I can do for you. I heard you had a case a few days back. Something about a new recreational drug?"

She froze, surprised. "We're not sure it's a recreational drug. Why? You got any cases developing like that now?"

Jack let out a deep breath, pausing. "Actually, not to sound competitive, but we beat you to the punch, kiddo. I don't know who you're dealing with over there, but we had a vampire blood market in Cheyenne a few years back. Caldwell told me last night about your problems, so I'd thought I'd give you a call."

She idly fiddled with a blurry picture of Michael, letting a tense exhale slip through her lips. "What does your team say about it?"

The Cheyenne PD had a group of paranormal experts, including an eccentric anthropologist by the name of Daniel Jackson. There were also two paranormals on the payroll: Teal'c, a practicing Mage, and one other detective by the name of Samantha Carter, an Elementalist. Jack had been trying to recruit Elizabeth to make a trifecta of paranormals for his division.

Though she suspected Jack was never too heartbroken about her rejections. He still had Daniel, after all. The anthropologist's knowledge on most things supernatural wasn't the only reason Jack kept him around. She'd long ago deduced that there was more to the relationship between the two men than met the eye.

Their relationship was a secret kept worse than her own werewolf one.

"Space-monkey never figured that one out," Jack answered. "We didn't have any solid leads, and then the drug-trafficking just stopped all of a sudden. No reason we could determine. Just stopped one day all on its' own like somebody from the inside had shut it down."

She opened her mouth to follow up with another question, but her gaze caught on the edge of a picture that lay half covered. She brushed aside the top layer of photographs to reveal another image with Michael, standing in a cemetery. The timestamp marked the date from two weeks ago. Her main interest lay with his company in the image, though; standing next to him was Teyla.

The image hit Elizabeth with a force she wasn't prepared for.

"—lizabeth, did you hear me?"

Elizabeth snapped her focus back to the phone conversation. "I'm sorry, what?"

Jack paused. "Everything all right?"

Elizabeth's eyes automatically refocused on the picture. What was Teyla doing with Michael? As far as Elizabeth had been aware, the first time the witch had seen Michael in years had been a week back, in her own apartment just after the fight with John that had sent both men careening through a wall. She never mentioned one word about seeing Michael before that.

And what were they doing at a cemetery?

"Yeah," she answered distractedly, standing to rummage through the stack of photographs faster. "Uh, look, Jack, I'm a little busy right now... Any info you could send me later?"

"I'm faxing over our files now," Jack replied in a tone, and she could hear the unspoken questions hanging in the air. "It's not much, but maybe you'll find something we missed."

"Thanks, Jack. That'd be appreciated."

"Don't mention it," Jack answered easily. "Just remember it the next time I ask you for a favor."

Elizabeth never heard him.

Her hands stilled as she caught sight of one of the last photos in the stack. Numbly hanging up the phone without a reply, Elizabeth settled heavily in her chair as she brought the photo into better light. It was another picture of Teyla and Michael standing in the cemetery, but her gaze only rested briefly on the pair before shifting in focus, drawn to the image in the background. There was a lone figure not far behind them - of a woman with long dirty-blonde hair. She was laying a single rose on a grave, her hand outstretched over the tombstone. She was young. Slender. Pretty.

Elizabeth would have recognized her anywhere. It was the face of the woman that had haunted her dreams for years.

It was the woman Elizabeth had killed nearly two years ago.

\--x--

Elizabeth floored the accelerator, gripping the steering wheel with a vice-like grip as she swerved the car onto the highway onramp. The sun was rising just over the horizon, but Elizabeth didn't even bother to drop down the visor into place because her concentration was clearly on other things.

Her hands had stopped shaking, but there was adrenaline fueling her body now, coated over with anxiety and disbelief that was playing havoc with her normal composure. The photo of the woman – Elizabeth's victim – rested quietly nearby on the passenger seat, mocking her, throwing Elizabeth off-kilter every time she caught a glimpse of it out of the corner of her eye.

It didn't make sense. It wasn't possible, but the proof was right _there_.

It took all her effort not to make a mad, reckless dash to her destination. Teyla hadn't answered her phone; hadn't been there when Elizabeth had pounded on her door; she wasn't at any of her usual hunts. Frustrated after searching for Teyla in vain, Elizabeth had few other options left.

She pulled into the parking lot, slamming the breaks and bringing the car to a lurching stop. She scrambled out of the vehicle, swiftly striding to the front door without pause or planning. She rang the doorbell impatiently once, twice, three times in a row, not bothering to wait for the end of one chime before she was pounding again. After an endless few seconds, the door swung open but she didn't let him speak any words in greeting.

Shoving the picture forward, Elizabeth demanded, "What the hell is going on?"

John blinked at her with groggy eyes, a mess of spiky bed tousled hair sticking up in every direction. He was shirtless and barefoot, only attired in flannel pajamas bottoms. At another time the sight would have made Elizabeth falter, but her mind was too focused and worked up, and when all he did was blink at her in confusion, she thrust the picture into his hands and brushed passed him into the building.

"What?" he gruffly breathed, shifting his focus to the picture. "Elizabeth, what are you—"

"That woman, John," Elizabeth explained quickly, trying to find the right words when all she wanted to do was _scream_. "That woman in the background. Look at her. That's the woman from that night. That's the woman—"

"What the hell is going on?" someone exclaimed from behind.

Elizabeth whirled around to find several members of her kin emerging from the long hallway in the back. Lorne, Laura and Radek moved to the front of the group. Everybody stared at her for one long awkward moment, and as she swept her gaze across the crowd, the sight of them splashed a cold bucket of reality onto Elizabeth. Her eyes drifted shut briefly in mortification as she realized her foolish mistake.

It was the first time she'd seen most of them in months, and all of sudden she was standing there, practically hysterical like a crazy woman.

Radek stepped forward, blinking at her; his usual thick glasses missing from the perch of his nose. "Elizabeth, what are you doing here?"

She couldn't think of a response fast enough, her words freezing in the back of her throat.

"Guys," John cut in eventually, saving her. "It's all right. Just go back to your rooms—"

Rodney emerged from the back of the corridor. "Elizabeth? Is that you?" He stopped short in front of her and looked Elizabeth up and down critically. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

Her gaze drifted to John, to the picture held in his hands, and the words rang a little too close for her comfort.

 _Calm down, Elizabeth. You're acting reckless._

"I'm fine," she managed, desperately trying to steady her voice. "I'm fine, Rodney. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to wake everybody up." She paused, suddenly remembering the last words he'd thrown at her; remembering she was now an outsider amongst this group. "I'll go. I'll leave. I just… I just have to speak with John for a moment."

"Elizabet—" Rodney began.

"You heard her," John stopped him. "Just give us some privacy, guys."

The group hesitated, but John's words were practically an order. After a brief pause, they started moving again, feet shuffling in awkwardness as they disbanded. Everyone kept throwing her searching gazes, and she wondered if it was just her imagination and paranoia acting up when she thought she saw distrust and wariness etched in their collective stares.

Except Rodney, who didn't have an ounce of recrimination on his face, just transparent confusion. After John nodded at him to get him moving along, Rodney waved briefly and reluctantly retreated down the corridor.

"Elizabeth," John spoke softly, knowingly. "They're just a little thrown, you know. Give 'em time."

"Have a little faith?" Elizabeth mused before she could stop herself.

She pivoted to face him and awkward silence quickly blanketed the hallway. In her haste to get over here and find out answers, she'd entirely forgotten about the fact that she was still trying to avoid this man. Abruptly she could tell that both of them were reminded of the same thing - the last time they had spoken, a week ago. In bed.

"So," John managed thickly, clearing his throat. "Alright," he began again, glancing down to the picture folded and bent in his hands. "Now, why don't you start from the beginning?"

When she finally found her voice, instead of explaining, she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear and said, "Get dressed. I want to take you someplace. I'll explain on the way."

\--x--

As she wove through the streets just as Friday morning traffic started congesting the roads, for once it was John telling her to slow down instead of the other way around. She flipped on her siren and drove through the bottleneck of cars without the slightest show of restraint.

"Where are we headed?" John demanded above the roar of the siren, slanting a dubious look outside at the quickly passing-by scenery. He pointedly strapped on his seatbelt.

She explained everything – about Ronon, about the footage, about the pictures of Teyla, Michael and that _woman_. Her thoughts were a jumbled mess and her narration jumped from one topic to another with no clear linear thinking, but she tried her best considering she could barely get own head wrapped around the developments.

When she was done, John simply paused for a moment, disquieted. "Are you sure this is the same woman from that night?"

She heard the disbelief in his voice and leveled him with an incredulous look. "You were there the morning after, John. You're telling me you don't recognize her?" John's gaze dropped down to the photo in his hands, studying it for the umpteenth time since they'd gotten into the car. His gaze was searching, but dubious. When he looked back up at her, she knew the answer without him saying anything. "How is that possible?" she demanded.

He shrugged helplessly. "Elizabeth," he tried for a placating voice. "This picture is of a blonde woman in the distance. I'm sure there's resemblance, but how do you—"

"I know that face, John," she snapped, frustrated. "It's been haunting my dreams for years."

He paused, and then said bluntly, "That woman's face was ravaged when I found her. I couldn't even recognize her. And that morning, you were really out of it."

Like she needed to be reminded of that fact.

Though the memories from that morning were blurry and indistinct, there were certain moments that stayed with her, burned into her consciousness for all of time. The face of the woman she had killed would be a thing Elizabeth wouldn't forget – could _never_ forget.

She shook her head in denial. "I know what I know, John. That picture, that woman is—"

"Alive," John supplied, trying to reason with her. "The girl from years ago is dead."

Her fingers curled white-knuckled around the steering wheel. She knew what she was saying sounded insane, but their lives had never exactly been neat and tidy. She was sure there were a hundred different crazy explanations for such an occurrence, all of them paranormal in origin.

She pressed the brakes, rolling the tires to a stop at an intersection. After a brief pause, she reached for the switch and flipped off the siren, descending them into silence. She needed to stop reacting emotionally. Start at the beginning. Figure out what the hell was going on. She needed to approach this situation rationally.

"John," she began, "I need for you to finally tell me what you did with that body."

She turned to face him and John was staring at her, jaw clenched, eyes glowering with the words. Since that dark day two years ago, his actions had always been a festering open-wound between them. After she'd woken up covered in that woman's blood and John discovered them both like that, Elizabeth had been entirely too disoriented to realize that he'd quickly formulated a game plan. After he had taken care of depositing Elizabeth back at her house, he'd abruptly disappeared for hours.

When he finally returned, his only explanation was that he had gone to "take care of the body." He'd been impressively proficient in the task; sickeningly so. No corpse had ever resurfaced, and oddly no one had ever filed a missing persons report that matched the description of Elizabeth's nameless victim.

She'd never asked John to do any of that – been, in fact, enraged that he had been so quick to brush the brutal killing aside. It led to numerous fights over the next few months, crumbling their relationship in the process until it was unrecognizable. After one particularly messy fight – which included her violently lashing out at him - Elizabeth had packed her bags and left the pack behind in the middle of the night, stealing away like some common thief.

"John," she pleaded. "Tell me."

"No," he answered bluntly.

Old frustrations bubbled to the surface, and Elizabeth rested a moment before she gave in to her anger a little and cursed under her breath. In all this time, he'd refused to tell her what he'd done with the body because he rightfully feared her reactions. She'd confess everything if the body ever resurfaced.

John's inclination had always been to protect her, even sometimes from herself.

His frown was an etched shadow across his face. "Where are we headed, Elizabeth?"

After a pause, Elizabeth glanced away. "The cemetery," she supplied finally. "I want to know whose grave she was visiting."

\--x--

The St. Augustine Cemetery, the only graveyard within city limits, was over two hundred years old. The tombs numbered in the hundreds, if not thousands, so it took John and Elizabeth most of the morning to scour the large cemetery. The morning dew was glistening on the green grass as they combed the area, searching for that one grave that looked identical to the one in the picture.

Elizabeth studied the landmarks in the photograph - taking note of the shape of the inlaid tombstone, the hilltops in the background, and the dirt pathway that circled around a large oak tree nearby. John and Elizabeth split up and wandered down different pathways slowly, but Elizabeth's mind was never as leisurely as her pace.

Her mind obsessed on the photograph, never drifting far from the young woman in the background. But her attention now shifted to include Teyla and Michael's presence in the foreground. Questions and emotions vied for her attention, but she couldn't seem to identify anything remotely resembling an answer. What were they doing there together in the cemetery? And could their presence be merely coincidental? From the camera's vantage point, it was obvious that the mysterious woman in the backdrop was oblivious to the existence of Teyla and Michael. The blonde's attention was reserved for only one thing – the gravestone in front of her.

What were Teyla and Michael doing there, then? Were they watching the young woman? Or did they have other business? Were they—

"Elizabeth!" John hollered out. "I've found it!"

Elizabeth glanced across the rows, finding him standing in front of a single grave on the far east side. She quickly crossed the field and halted beside him, studying the landmarks around them before she focused on the gravestone that was flush and embedded in the ground.

"This looks like this is it," John murmured.

She nodded her understanding, afraid her voice wouldn't cooperate, then bent to brush away a gathering of foliage that had fallen on the tombstone. She swept away the leaves and the engraved letters revealed themselves.

_Ellia Keller. March 21, 1988 - August 12, 2005.  
Beloved Daughter, Sister and Friend_

Elizabeth stared at the letters, then choked in a hushed voice, "John."

The ground was cold and damp beneath her knees, but even as the chill of the wet grass soaked through her slacks, her mind didn't register it at all, thrown into overload. She leapt to the obvious conclusions - August 12, 2005 was the exact date from two years ago, when Elizabeth had turned and killed. She didn't know how to explain the rest of it, but after all this time, the pieces quietly fell into place and Elizabeth knew without a shadow of doubt that she was staring at the grave of the woman she'd killed. Ellia Keller was the girl she'd murdered.

Elizabeth numbly did the math in her head, realizing Ellia had been merely 17 years old when she had died.

Oh god, she had killed a child.

Silently, John dropped down to a bended knee beside her, pressing a hand over her arm. "Elizabeth."

"This is what you did with the body?" Elizabeth breathed softly, numbly, tears welling in her eyes. "You gave it back to the family so they could put her to rest?"

There was a pause, and then John confessed, "No."

She inhaled a shaky gulp of air and twisted slightly to look up at him. "What?"

"I," he began roughly, voice gruff and quiet. He looked confused and as lost as Elizabeth felt, and then quietly confessed, "I had given the body to Teyla."

\--x--

Teyla still wasn't answering her phone, and she was nowhere to be found when Elizabeth once again swung by her place. Elizabeth and John spent the next hour visiting a handful of Teyla's usual hunts before Elizabeth realized in frustration that the search was in vain. Again. Teyla wasn't anywhere she was supposed to be.

They gave up the search and diverted their attention to finding answers the more conventional way. While John drove her across town, she booted up her laptop and logged on to the Atlantis PD database, searching for more information on Ellia Keller.

According to the system, Ellia Keller died in a car accident. There was no missing person's report or criminal investigation because, as far as everybody else had been concerned, there had been no murder. The body had been found in a totaled car that had caught on fire, and the body's remains inside had been burned beyond recognition. The identity was confirmed only through dental records.

Elizabeth conducted a quick background check, and found out that Ellia had a father named Zaddik, but more importantly, she had a twin sister by the name of Jennifer Keller.

Everything was making perfect sense.

"That was who you saw in the picture," John murmured in understanding. "Her twin."

Elizabeth stared out the window, watching the landscape pass by in silence. She idly stared wordlessly at nothing until fear and frustration stung her eyes. "I have to see them, John. I have to see her family."

She had a confession to make.

John kept his gaze fixed rigidly ahead of him on the road, but she spotted the tension building in his shoulders easily enough. This was his worst nightmare coming to reality. He'd tried so long to shelter her from this, but what he'd never understood was that by preventing her from taking these steps, he'd blocked off any semblance of gaining closure. She never moved on; never healed.

This was something Elizabeth had to do. It was something that should have been done a long time ago.

John sat stiffly beside her, his knuckles turning white from strain around the steering wheel. "You're going to do this no matter what, aren't you?"

"Yes. I don't know what's going to happen next, but I know what I have to do."

He flinched. The silence in the air hung heavily between them, and she knew by the way he was averting his gaze that he was struggling to come up with some last ditch effort to convince her of another course of action.

He pulled the car into an empty parking lot, quickly turning off the engine to give the conversation his full focus. "We should talk to Teyla first," John argued after a moment. "She might have—"

"Nothing she says is going to change the facts," Elizabeth stopped him. "Ellia is dead and buried. I did that. That's not going to change."

"It wasn't your fault!"

"I wasn't blameless either, John," Elizabeth countered, just as stubbornly. She shook her head and studied her hands, idly digging out the dirt that had embedded itself under her fingernails. "I knew the moment it happened that things would never be the same. I knew I could never be the person I was before. Give me the chance to do this the right way, John."

She glanced up and watched his eyes avoid hers and fasten again on the dashboard in front of them. "Elizabeth," he urged in a faint voice. "Don't—"

"And I want you to be there with me when I do this," she continued, hitting the final nail in the coffin when she reached for him, pressing a hand over his arm, urging him to look at her. "Please, John, for me."

He twisted to face her and she held his gaze, trying her best to stay strong and steadfast. It was hard to manage when John looked at her like that, though. She hated herself for asking this of him, but the truth was a part of her would always need him, even after all this time.

There was a long enough silence to make her worry, though. When he didn't immediately respond, she pulled back. "Fine, then just drop me off—"

He roughly cupped the back of her neck, his grip possessive, and dragged her to him. Before she even realized it, his mouth was hot on hers, rough and demanding, giving her no moment to think. His tongue invaded her mouth and desire flooded her like a torrent, immediate and overwhelming; the mate within her surging to the surface as it took control. There was a rush of wild desperation in the kiss as he urged her closer with a tug, and Elizabeth wanted to yield.

But they shouldn't have been doing this. This wasn't the right time. This wasn't the right thing.

"Stop, stop," she urged, fighting John's grip. "John, wait."

John froze, breathing heavily, his eyes that familiar shade of yellow. He cursed before Elizabeth could say anything further and immediately released her, seemingly as thrown by the surge of lust as she was. She immediately pulled away, trying to put as much distance between them as afforded - which wasn't that much space at all in her small, suddenly cramped sedan.

A few seconds of silence lapsed, and their breathing hung thick in the air. She had to resist the urge to reach for him again. Their baser instincts were getting harder to control now, or maybe they weren't putting up much of a fight anymore? In either case, it shocked her as it always did how easily she could get worked up around this man.

"Jesus," John muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair. "Shit. Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean—I know you don't need that right now." If the situation hadn't been so serious, Elizabeth would have laughed. But the next second John slammed a hand against the steering wheel, the impact hard. "Fuck," he growled in frustration. "I _really_ didn't mean to do that."

Elizabeth believed him, knowing after the events of the prior week, he wasn't going to push her anymore. But she just sat there silently, unwilling to admit to John the real reason she'd pulled away. She didn't want to do what she was about to do – her confession – and have this hanging between them. John didn't deserve that; didn't deserve to be toyed with like that until she had her head on straight. He'd said as much a week ago, and she abruptly realized in that moment how right he'd been.

She had to figure out what she was doing first, before she did anything with John.

Elizabeth silently scrubbed a hand across the nape of her neck, too overwhelmed and completely unable to come to terms with what was happening to them yet again. Her hands were shaking, and inside, the mate was warring for control, demanding things that made Elizabeth's body warm with the imagery. Instead, she simply planted a hand against the window pane near the side of her seat, eyes focused intently on the empty pavement ahead.

"We should probably get going," she breathed stiffly.

Beside her, there was a pause before John started the engine again and shifted the car into reverse. They pulled out of the parking lot in silence, and though Elizabeth didn't dare look at him, his presence beside her couldn't have been more palpable if he had tried.

They drove to the Keller residence in heavy silence.

\--x--


	6. Chapter 6

\--x--

The Keller residence was a large two story house in an upscale suburban neighborhood. From the outside it looked like a charming place, complete with its own white picket fence and a garden of pink petunias planted alongside the front porch. Zaddik Keller relocated with his family to Atlantis six years ago; before that a native born and bred in their neighboring city of Cheyenne. He was now a wealthy doctor that worked in Atlantis' most prominent hospital - St. Claires. From all angles of light, Zaddik was a respected and valued member of the community.

As John parked the sedan at the curb, Elizabeth silently studied the house and mused it was a rather large place for a family of two. She winced as the miserable notion settled into the pit of her stomach, and she took a second to gather her courage. In the back of her mind, she could hear the whispers of protests that told her that this was another mistake in a long line of them.

It was one thing to make the decision to confess. It was entirely another thing to follow through with it. She hadn't felt this nervous and sick to her stomach in… a very, very long time.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" John asked, yet again.

John wasn't helping the matter. Though as she turned to face him, she quietly conceded the fact that he was finally willing to let her make her own decisions. That was more than she had gotten from him in the last two years.

Maybe he had changed, after all.

"I have to, John."

He frowned as he pulled open his door. "I know."

She slowly trailed after him to the front porch, nervously studying the pathway like it was suddenly the most fascinating landscape she'd ever seen. She'd been entirely wrong about the flowers – they were a patch of rosemary flowers, not petunias. There was even a black cat curled up lazily in the dark soot of the flowerbed. The cat lifted its head and hissed angrily at Elizabeth when she rang the doorbell.

"Just breathe, Elizabeth," John whispered next to her, sensing her unease. "I'll be here the entire time."

Nodding, she kept her gaze trained on the flowers as she took a deep breath to steady herself, getting a whiff of fresh fertilizer in the air. It seemed the flowers were recently planted but there was something else, too. Elizabeth wrinkled her nose in disgust. It smelled something like the lingering smell of sulfur.

What was sulfur—

The front door opened and Jennifer Keller was standing in the doorway.

\--x--

Jennifer Keller was nineteen years old, but still a child. Her bright green eyes belied a vivacious intelligence to them, but of course that much was also obvious from the Harvard sweatshirt she had wrapped around her waist. She was an upcoming freshman, apparently. There was still an aura of childlike innocence to her. She graciously invited Elizabeth and John into the house once Elizabeth had flashed her badge. Ever the good hostess, Jennifer set out two cold glasses of lemonade as Elizabeth grabbed a seat at one end of the oblong kitchen table.

"So, what can I do for you, Officer?"

"It's detective, actually," Elizabeth replied with a forced smile. "I actually… I actually wanted to talk to you about your sister."

Jennifer's bright smile immediately cracked around the edges. "Oh," she whispered faintly.

Hovering over her left shoulder, John stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Elizabeth raised her head and shared a look with a look with him, and he spoke up. "What do you know about your sister's death?"

Jennifer tucked a curl of her long blonde hair behind an ear, and cleared her throat. "There's not much to know. She was killed in a car accident, supposedly by a drunk driver that ran off. Our family seems to have a bad history of car accidents."

Elizabeth's eyes fell to the glass of lemonade in her hands, studying the condensation on the side of the glass. "Actually, that's—"

"Not that I can remember it, anyway."

Elizabeth paused, looking up. "What?"

Jennifer shook her head and then offered an impish shrug. "Retrograde amnesia," she explained in a soft voice, her eyes downcast and self-conscious. "I lost my memory – all of my memories - nearly six months ago. I don't remember anything about my life before that, including Ellia."

"Oh, well, I…" Elizabeth faltered, tossing a beseeching look towards John that asked for help as she floundered for words.

"How?" John spoke up when Elizabeth couldn't recover. "How did you lose your memory? If you don't mind me asking?"

Jennifer traced the rim of her lemonade glass with her index finger. "Car crash," she answered in a shy voice. "I'm wondering if our family has a curse when it comes to automobiles. I crashed while driving cross country to Massachusetts. I woke up in my dad's hospital, and… it was…" she offered a weak shrug, unable to continue.

"I'm so sorry," Elizabeth offered.

"It could have been worse," Jennifer continued with a tight smile. "My dad's been great about it. It's been hard for him, first with Ellie and now this with me, but he's… you know, my rock. He lost one child and… It's strange. Hard, for me, trying to grieve for someone I never knew. But Dad's a…" She seemed to lose focus for a moment, but gathered herself in the next second and weakly repeated, "He's a rock."

"He sounds like a wonderful father."

"He is," Jennifer was quick to answer. "He'd do anything for me." The sound of the garage opening and a car pulling up the driveway alerted the group to a new arrival. Jennifer offered them both a quick grin. "Speak of the Devil. If you'll excuse me for a second?"

"Of course."

Jennifer rose and disappeared down the hallway to greet her father. In her wake, Elizabeth silently turned to John, still too overwhelmed and wracked by guilt to wrap her head around everything. She wondered how this new development changed things; if it changed things at all.

John wasn't as ambivalent. "Elizabeth," he spoke tersely. "Something is way off about all this."

Elizabeth's brow knit together in confusion. "What?"

"Amnesia?" he repeated in an incredulous tone. "You actually believe that?"

"Because it's somehow more outrageous than everything else in our lives?" Elizabeth replied guilelessly. "What reason could she have to lie to us about that?"

He plunged a hand through his hair then gestured wildly, a tad desperate. "This is just too _weird_."

But Elizabeth paused; she didn't even think the girl was capable of lying, especially of a lie so extravagant. She'd spent plenty of hours staring at people across the interrogation room, studying their ticks and tells; their body language. She knew a liar when she saw one, and Jennifer didn't strike her as such.

John scowled and his hands fisted. "Something isn't right here, Elizabeth. Don't do this. Not now. Not until we figure out what's going on."

Elizabeth let her eyes drift close briefly. "Is this your paranoia or your urge to shield and overprotect acting up?"

"Both," John answered bluntly, then implored, "Just trust me on this, Elizabeth. For once, just… just _trust me._ "

She stared at him, the determined look in his eyes showing that familiar streak of stubbornness again. Elizabeth had no more than a second or two to decide before the sound of a door opening echoed from somewhere across the house and two pairs of footsteps heralded the approach of Jennifer and her father.

"It's seems my father had an accident today," Jennifer announced, a bit bewildered. Zaddik was hobbling behind her; an elderly man with graying hair, favoring a limp towards his right side. "He… apparently had a stumble down the stairs?" Behind her, Zaddik grunted in agreement, his attention mainly focused on his injury. When he finally looked up and caught Elizabeth's gaze, he froze. "Father," Jennifer continued, "This is Detective Weir and her friend, Mr. Sheppard. They're here because… well, actually, I don't really know why they're here. We never got around to that."

Elizabeth rose from the chair to greet him, staring into the light blue eyes of the man whose daughter she'd killed. Elizabeth acknowledged that he had a presence about that was dignified and commanding, but there was something in his eyes that paralyzed her voice. A tide of guilt swept through her, so fast that Elizabeth found it difficult to breathe for a second.

Surely, it must have been her imagination acting up when she thought she already saw accusations and hatred welling across his face.

"We came here," Elizabeth recovered, voice distant to her own ears, "because we're looking over cold cases, and we stumbled upon your daughter's car crash. We're looking into it, again."

"What?" Both Jennifer and Zaddik said at the same time.

Behind her, she heard John expel a soft sigh of relief.

She drew in a deep breath, and that faint odor of sulfur in the air was somehow more magnified than before, as if its presence had intensified in the last minute. "We just…" she offered a tight smile. "We have new leads, and we wanted to talk with Ellia's family to get any further information in regards to the accident."

Zaddik's back stiffened. "We know nothing about the car accident except what the authorities told us." He gave John a cursory glance before fixing his gaze on Elizabeth again with a hardened glare. "You know as much about the killing as I do."

John stepped forward quickly. "We're sorry if this has been a waste of time. Elizabeth and I…" he gestured vaguely with his hands, trying to think quickly, "we just wanted to be thorough."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be more help," Jennifer whispered weakly. "But even if I had my memory, my father and I weren't there at the sight of my sister's crash. We can't really—"

"Of course," Elizabeth stopped her, throat tight. "Again, we apologize if this has been—"

"Painful?" Zaddik interrupted roughly. "You have no idea."

She wasn't reading too much into the hardened hatred in Zaddik's eyes. He definitely didn't like Elizabeth much; although that wasn't too surprising considering she had sold herself as an inept police officer that was reopening old wounds by asking foolish questions. No cop would ever come knocking on the door of a grieving family member whose loved one was killed in a normal car crash. It was a flimsy lie; one that she hoped Zaddik wouldn't look too closely into.

"Is there anything else?" Zaddik inquired as he stretched his injured leg out in front of him.

The pant leg was already seeping through with blood, and although it looked to be a nasty injury, the scent of blood in the air was curiously overridden by the smell of sulfur. A crawl of goose bumps broke out across her flesh. The feeling was cold and twisting, warning her about this man.

"We'll just see ourselves out," Elizabeth breathed quickly, repressing the gag reflex.

In the next instant she brushed passed them and headed for the exit. They left quickly, climbing into their car as Jennifer waved to them from the front porch. As John put the car in reverse, she quickly surveyed the house and spotted the curtains to the living room window get pushed aside. The grim face of Zaddik watched them as they swiftly drove away. She couldn't suppress the new wave of goose bumps that broke out across her arm, nor ignore the fact that she was breathing fresh air for the first time since entering Zaddik's presence.

The sulfur. The smell of it towards the end had been overwhelming.

"Elizabeth," John breathed in confusion. "What the hell just happened? What was all that glaring all about? Zaddik looked really pissed."

"That wasn't just my overactive imagination, then?"

John set his lips in a thin line and avoided looking at her. "No."

She buried her face in her hands, picturing that dark expression on Zaddik's face and the way her body had frozen in his presence as if sensing something threatening; something perhaps even dark. Biting down on her guilt, she took a deep breath and tried again to soothe the anxiousness as she concentrated on clearing her head; thinking rationally.

The man felt... _foul_ to her.

Was it all her imagination? Her paranoia?

"I don't know," she confessed to John. "I honestly don't."

It wasn't more than a second or two later that Elizabeth snapped out of her duper. She flipped open her phone and called up Carson, but his voicemail picked up.

"What are you doing?" John inquired.

Elizabeth covered the mouthpiece on her phone and spoke quickly, "I'm asking Carson to get Jennifer Keller's medical records."

John lifted a brow then nodded appreciatively. She left a message with a quick explanation on Carson's phone, and while she waited for the callback, John pulled up to a local diner.

"We need to refuel," John supplied to her slanted look. "And I'm positive you haven't had anything to eat yet."

She didn't deny it.

Inside the diner Elizabeth took in her surroundings with one sweeping glance, finding the interior modeled with a retro-fifties look. A girl with pigtails and skates slid up next to the service podium and chauffeured them to a quiet table in the back. She deposited the menus and took an order for two cups of coffee before she skated down the linoleum flooring.

"I don't know what's going on," John began once the waitress was out of earshot, "but something is wrong with that guy. And with this Jennifer girl. We need to figure that out first before we make the next move."

Elizabeth knew that tone of voice and the frustration behind it. She exhaled sharply, and then retrieved her cell phone again. The battery was almost dead, but she flipped it open and called Teyla for the perhaps the twelfth time that day. It went straight to voicemail, and instead of leaving yet another message Elizabeth just closed the phone with an annoyed snap.

"Teyla still isn't picking up," she breathed, and her voice turned heavy with anxiety. "That isn't like her. She's never this out of touch for this long."

John stared back at her and opened his mouth but the waitress returned with their coffees. They sat in heavy silence while the waitress made small talk, and quickly ordered their meals. By the time the food arrived, her cell phone chirped its melody and Elizabeth quickly answered it. Carson was on the other end.

"Did you get it?"

"Aye, you're lucky I have friends in many and varied places," Carson answered with a heavy sigh. "What am I looking for?"

"You tell me?" Elizabeth replied. "Is there anything unusual?"

"Well," Carson admitted in an aggrieved tone, "Actually the file is unusually slim for someone with this type of trauma in her past. I should see a rather bulky set of tests immediately after the retrograde amnesia was identified, but there seems to be only a small series of tests and then a referral by her former psychiatrist to another research facility. Strange."

"What?"

"The psychiatrist, a doctor," he paused, searching for the name, "Kate Heightmeyer, it seems... well, most of her file information seems to be missing."

"Patient confidentiality?" Elizabeth offered faintly.

"The original psychiatric evaluation should be in her file, at the very least," Carson countered. "Either I didn't get the complete paperwork or somebody went in and removed things from it. The few tests that we have here only run back six months."

"That's when she crashed," Elizabeth supplied. "Her amnesia only began after that."

"No, you don't understand," Carson corrected. "There is nothing here before the car accident. No paperwork. No medical history. Nothing. It's as if the girl sprang to life as a 19-year-old girl."

Elizabeth paused, a sickening thought occurring to her. She locked eyes with John across the table and she could tell by the way he sat stiffly that his heightened hearing had picked up enough of the conversation. A look passed between them, and Elizabeth wondered if John was thinking what she was.

She cleared her throat. "Carson, is there anything else?"

"Well, I can't do much good with these meager tests," Carson denied. "Perhaps her father has her records sealed in his research?"

"Research?"

"Aye. I've heard a thing or two about Zaddik when he was working in Cheyenne a few years back. Remarkable scientist - revolutionary, actually. His work on isolation and cell regeneration of Bipotent Progenitor cells paved the way for some ingenious military applications for treating the wounded soldiers down in Iraq. His funding was governmental for the longest time until he moved here."

"Why would he move to Atlantis if he had it set up so well in Cheyenne?"

"His daughter, I suspect," Carson answered. "The hospital he works at now – St. Claires – has a formidable reputation for research in brain abnormalities."

"Anything interesting?" John inquired in a whisper, and Elizabeth passed along the question.

"As far as retrograde amnesia goes?" Carson mused with a sigh, taking a moment to think. "Aye, they had some clinical trials conducted with a certain South Asian plant called Ashwagandha that seemed to be affecting the hippocampus and temporal lobes in promising ways. Nothing spectacular, though." John rolled his eyes at her and Elizabeth had to suppress a smile. "Oh," Carson breathed, "wait a bit."

"What?"

She heard Carson shuffling through papers on the other end. "There was one MRI scan I thought I saw in here. Passed by it quic—aye, here we are." There was a pause while Elizabeth waited patiently for Carson to examine the image. Meanwhile John reached across the table to steal a few French fries off her plate so she swatted his hand away and sent a glare in his direction. She was so distracted by John's smirking that she nearly missed Carson's soft utterance. "Bloody hell."

Elizabeth's interest peaked. "Carson?"

"Her scan," he mumbled distractedly, "this has to be wrong."

"What is it?"

"Her temporal lobe and the hippocampus," Carson said softly, as if in disbelief. "They're… damaged."

"Isn't that what's causing her amnesia?" John asked quietly with an eyebrow quirked.

She could hear Carson's shock registering even over the phone. "No, these images. The brain isn't damaged in small pockets; entire regions of the brain are _dead._ "

"Dead as in—"

"As in no living human being could function with these levels of activity," Carson answered bluntly. "I'd swear I was looking at the MRI scans of a comatose patient, one with absolutely no chance of recovery." He paused, exhaling sharply. "There must be some mix up with the chart. Perhaps this isn't her file?"

His response did nothing to assuage her. Elizabeth locked eyes with John, weakly agreeing with Carson's assessment. "Yeah, perhaps."

But she knew better, and by the look of it, so did John.

When the conversation ended, Elizabeth flipped closed the phone and spoke softly, "You know, Teyla… she'd mentioned something about the dark mage before."

"What?"

"She feared he was using Necromancy."

\--x--

They drove back to the graveyard, and without much further discussion, they both waited until nightfall, sitting in the car for nearly two hours as they silently watched a funeral procession unfold in the distance. When the crowds had dispersed, John recovered two shovels from a nearby shed and together they stealthily moved across the cemetery back to Ellia Keller's grave.

She couldn't believe they were doing this, but silently and without protests, they both began digging the ground up. The soil was still wet and muddy from the rain earlier in the day. As mounds and mounds of mud was kicked up into the air and tossed aside, soon Elizabeth was waist deep in a grave she'd helped build as much as any grave digger.

They hit the coffin about ten minutes later, the thud of the shovel echoing in the night sky. Quickly brushing away the sops of mud from the wooden surface, John handed her his shovel and told Elizabeth to step back.

He pried open the lid, and they both stared at the inside.

The coffin was empty.

\--x--

Hours later, Elizabeth sat quietly in the small kitchen in John's building with her hands curled around a warm cup of coffee. She stared vacantly at the hot steam rising off the ceramic mug, too absorbed in her thoughts to register as time passed quickly and the coffee grew cold. Possibilities tumbled in her head, and Elizabeth scarcely knew where to start. She let her eyes drift closed again and took a deep breath, trying to piece together a clear picture of what was happening, but each puzzle piece was unclear and ambiguous.

Ellia Keller's grave was empty, and her twin sister suffered from amnesia and had a spotty medical record. Further inquiry into the police database regarding Jennifer Keller's history informed Elizabeth that there was very little paperwork in her records. Only the fundamental basics existed – a birth certificate, vaccination forms, and a high school transcript. Nothing that couldn't be forged overnight.

Elizabeth wasn't being paranoid; she just couldn't be. Though she could hardly wrap her head around the developments, Elizabeth had the sinking feeling that perhaps there was something paranormal about the father, Zaddik. Something clearly dark, too. After a few hours of obsessing about it, the lingering smell of sulfur finally triggered a vague memory of something Teyla had once told her in passing: sulfur was the rank odor left behind by certain types of dark magic.

One grave empty. One daughter with a shady past. And black magic - Necromancy.

Were Ellia and Jennifer one in the same?

Zaddik - if he was indeed the dark mage Teyla had spoken of - could have been using Necromancy to bring his deceased daughter back to life, disguising her under an alias of a twin sister that, in fact, never existed at all. Elizabeth pinched the bridge of her nose and closed her eyes, drawing in a deep breath. Was she grasping at straws? There was no way to prove any of this; just speculations and a pile of questions.

Behind her, Rodney reemerged from the other room with a few clothes and a towel in his hands. "Here," he offered, standing awkwardly in the door way. "Sheppard suggested you clean up in my bathroom upstairs."

Elizabeth twisted to face him, eyes falling to the clothes in his hands before she acutely realized her own state. She was covered in drying mud, and her clothes were soaked through and through. She must have looked like a mess. Elizabeth faintly nodded and rose, accepting the bundle of clothes as she quietly headed for the door.

"Elizabeth?" Rodney stopped her. "What's going on?"

She froze, unable to speak for a long moment before she realized that things were too complicated to catch him up to speed. "Just…" Elizabeth breathed, shaking her head. She refused to look at him while she lied. "Nothing, Rodney. We're just investigating Ford's death. Things are getting… confusing."

"What have you found?"

She forced herself to pivot on her heels, eyes faceted on the wall behind him. "Not much."

Rodney's frowned at her explanation, and an irritated expression flittered across. "Look, I get that you're trying to keep your distance from us, but we deserve answers too. John is upstairs avoiding me, and you're down here looking like you're going to keel over from exhaustion. What's going on?"

She retreated, back-peddling out of the kitchen quickly. "I'm sorry, Rodney," she whispered gruffly. "I really am."

She left without an explanation, wondering for the millionth time if Rodney and the rest of her kin could ever forgive her for all the transgressions she'd committed. Breaking off ties with them had been like severing her own arm, and Elizabeth kept on picking at the scabs. She climbed the stairs and quickly found Rodney's room, pushing aside the door and locking it behind her.

She suspected that John was in one of the rooms across the hall, cleaning up himself. For a moment, her hand rested against the wooden doorframe, mind stalling as an ill-advised plan occurred to her. She could find John. Join him in his room. A part of her craved that comfort so desperately her hand fell and fisted around the doorknob.

Elizabeth took a deep breath, regaining control as she stepped away from the door. She forcefully banished the dark suggestion from her mind.

A few minutes later, she'd blessedly stripped herself of the dirty clothing and stepped under the hot shower. The mud that was caked on her skin quickly darkened the water as it trailed down her body and circled the drain. Elizabeth stood under the blasting hot stream, feeling a moment of calm before her composure slowly cracked, breaking under the pressure.

For the first time in months, if not years, something happened to Elizabeth Weir.

She broke down and cried.

\--x--

After she'd cleaned up and dressed in warm clothes, Elizabeth climbed down again in search of the others. But as she searched room-to-room, she strangely discovered that the old building was eerily vacant and empty. She frowned in concern and cautiously made her way through the corridors, calling out, but her voice simply echoed across the dark hallways faintly. As she wandered about, disoriented in this unfamiliar place, for a moment she studied the building and could barely contain her annoyance.

It must have been one of the oldest buildings in all the city, and she couldn't begin to understand the appeal behind it that had drawn John to it. She'd much preferred the old place they'd had; the one with the clear view of the ocean on the west side of Atlantis.

Faintly she picked up noises coming from the back, outdoors. She followed the sounds until she unlocked the backdoor and found everybody gathered outside. And abruptly, in an instant, Elizabeth appreciated the pull this place had on John. The backyard was all wilderness, entirely untouched by man. The outgrowth of wild vegetation and large oak trees seemed to extend as far as the eye could see, retreating into the horizon probably over a good hundred acres. Elizabeth smiled as she breathed in the fresh air, the werewolf within her suddenly at home in this natural setting.

Her kin – all twelve of them - were lounging about on the ground, huddled around a nice warm fire that was kindling in the center of a clearing. For a werewolf that had surrounded herself with concrete walls on all sides for the last few years, the open space and wholesome air was like a splash of refreshing cool water. So it took Elizabeth a split second to register the preparations going on, but when she did, the smile ebbed off her face and Elizabeth slowly backtracked. She roughly collided with someone behind her and hands caught her around the waist to keep Elizabeth steady.

"Hey," John said quickly. "I know you weren't expecting this but--"

Elizabeth jerked free and whirled, frustrated. "You didn't tell me this was one of the cloistered nights."

The cloistered nights were events only a lycanthrope would understand. The night was intended to reinforce the more primal aspects of being a werewolf in a pack setting. They'd sleep the night outside, under the moon, huddled into small groups and clusters. Elizabeth used to jokingly call them puppy-piles, but the truth was, the significance behind it was a serious matter.

Spending a night in such a setting was about reinforcing the pack bounds. It was about a kin's comfort, solidarity and protection; all manners of things Elizabeth had left behind a long time ago.

"Stay," John urged, but he averted his eyes, as if his confidence was faltering even as he said it.

He knew exactly what he was asking, and despite what she thought had been his new intentions to stop pushing her on this front, he was asking anyway. Though the cloistered nights weren't sexual – it was a group setting - this was still dangerous for them.

Before she could muster a response, Rodney came up behind her.

"Stay, Elizabeth," Rodney reiterated. "I don't know what's happening – mainly because no one will tell me what the hell is going on like they're hiding classified information and I've somehow been deemed too incompetent to hold a secret," he sighed, reigning in his aggravation with a sharp exhale. But then his lips kicked upwards in a small smile. "But you look like you could use a good night's sleep."

It was an old joke between them: Elizabeth would always be the first to fall asleep and the last to be roused awake on cloistered nights. Rodney used to tease her about it all the time; not that Elizabeth had ever really minded. There was just something about the connection to her pack that cocooned her into a comforted blanket, lulling her senses.

So, maybe it was her exhaustion? Maybe it was the fact that both of them were conspiring against her? Or maybe, Elizabeth quietly admitted to herself, just maybe, it was the fact that she really, truly wanted to stay.

Whatever the case, Elizabeth couldn't find the words to protest.

\--x--

Despite the fact that she'd been feeling wariness and a sense of reserve from a large number of her pack, no one protested when it became obvious that Elizabeth was staying the night. Oddly, she stuck close to Rodney most of all, watching as the groups broke off into numbers of three and four.

Elizabeth tucked a wayward strand of her hair behind an ear, feeling as awkward as she had felt the first time she'd participated in a cloistered night. It'd made her feel foolish at first, but quickly instinct had taken over and the need to have such nights every so often, usually twice a month, quickly became second nature to her.

In fact, she remembered once when Sumner had once witnessed the morning after a cloistered night, and he'd been utterly bewildered and slightly freaked out by the primal urge Elizabeth apparently had to share her body warmth with more than one male at a time. She'd tried to convince him that it wasn't sexual – her only mate had always been John – but it was something she knew most humans would never really understand.

Rodney waved her forward, then dropped gracelessly to the ground when he reached their spot near the fireplace. Casually, he removed his shoes and started getting comfortable, plainly ignoring Elizabeth's hesitation. Behind her, John was keeping busy by gathering more firewood. Elizabeth swept a gaze across the crowd, noting the matches; watching Radek stretch out next to Laura, Lorne on her other side.

"Elizabeth," John whined behind her. "Get comfortable already."

Elizabeth repressed the urge to roll her eyes. She stepped up to Rodney and looked him over critically, finding him stretched out on the ground, looking rather comfortable already. She knew from previous experiences that he was a clinger in sleep; like a big teddy bear, though she'd never admit as much to Rodney. She took a deep breath, finally accepting that she was, in the face of everything rational, going to do this.

Elizabeth dropped to a knee beside Rodney, unlacing her boots and shrugging off her jacket before she set them both aside. She closed her eyes, trying to clear the stench of anxiety that was coiling little knots in the pit of her stomach. This was foolish, perhaps even irresponsible for Elizabeth to do. But she couldn't deny that she wanted this cloistered tonight and the comfort it offered.

There was an obligatory blanket laid out beneath them, but Elizabeth knew it was more for show than anything. The hard ground should have been uncomfortable, but it wasn't remotely the least for werewolves. Rodney merely grinned at her when she stretched out beside him, on her back, and his familiar and comforting scent quickly washed over her.

"You don't still snore, do you, Rodney?" she teased lightly.

Rodney snorted. "I never snore." There were loud collective protests from all kin present, and Elizabeth had to cover up a laugh. "Oh, quiet!" Rodney groused, shifting beside her in annoyance. "I don't snore _that_ loudly."

Nearby, Radek mumbled, "Rodney, we share a bed on most nights. You make noises louder than the České dráhy."

Elizabeth lifted her head quickly to glance at Radek, and the man turned slightly red-faced when he realized what he'd inadvertently admitted.

"Rodney," she whispered quietly. "Are you and Radek…?" Rodney's jaw clenched, and she could tell by the redness spreading across his neck that she was right. In two years, it seemed something had changed indeed. She elbowed him in the stomach, getting perverse pleasure from teasing him. "Rodney," she intoned with soft amusement. She'd always suspected that the two men had been… _smitten_ with each other. "Why aren't you snuggled up with him?" she goaded.

Rodney scowled at her. "Quiet, Elizabeth. Don't make me regret my sleeping arrangements for the night." His voice dropped, threatening, "Otherwise, I'll leave you alone with Sheppard."

That shut her up.

The only thing that ensured it wouldn't turn sexual with John tonight was Rodney's presence by her side. They were all more than well aware of that. She craned her neck to glance back at John, who was still for some reason gathering more wood. Either he was collecting enough firewood to last them _several_ cloistered nights, or he was stalling the prospects of curling up beside her.

She rolled onto her back and rested again, quietly letting a slow breath slip through her lips. She looked up to the sky and studied the stars, and though it wasn't nearly a full moon tonight, Elizabeth closed her eyes and breathed in the fresh air, feeling connected in a way she couldn't describe; hadn't felt in years. The animal inside was oddly content in that moment, resting easily with the heavens above her.

She heard John approach; the scent of him invading her calmed senses. Opening her eyes fractionally, Elizabeth shifted aside, closer to Rodney, and John dropped down on the opposite side of her. It was awkward at first when he stretched alongside her; their bodies barely even touching. Elizabeth squeezed her eyes shut and willed her body to stay calm, but the scent of John was darkly familiar in a way that Rodney's wasn't. Despite herself, her heart beat picked up and she would have been entirely embarrassed by it, but her one saving grace was that John's heart seemed to be racing faster than hers.

This was supposed to be about comfort, but that certainly wasn't the word Elizabeth would have used to describe it. Her body was tense and rigid, and she just couldn't relax. How was she supposed to when the mate within her was jolted awake by John's proximity?

Rodney shifted on the other side of her and Elizabeth had no choice but to settle more snugly between the two bodies. Silence blanketed the three of them, and Elizabeth's awareness was ridiculously intensified. It was too awkward; too tense. The moment stretched and just when Elizabeth was about to concede that this had obviously been a bad idea, John's arm slowly snaked completely around her waist and pressed her body close. Her breath caught in her throat, yet Elizabeth molded to his side willingly.

"Hey," John whispered, clearly trying to lighten the mood. "Remember your first cloistered night?"

Acutely, Elizabeth drudged up the memory. "Yeah," she breathed. "What about it?"

"Remember what you said to me before we fell asleep?"

She thought it over for a second, then craned her neck to look back at him. "Not particularly."

John smirked at her, but it was Rodney that answered. "You said, 'one hand where it's not supposed to be, Sheppard, and I'll knee you in the groin.'"

Between them, Elizabeth barked a short laugh, a bit of the tension leaving her body. It wasn't as awkward after that. The warm night air settled over them like a blanket, and readjusting and shifting and moving closer, the three of them shared body warmth. Acutely, she was aware of John pressed alongside her back, but there was more comfort and intimacy in the proximity than there was sexuality. She closed her eyes, and breathed in the familiar scents that cocooned her.

Somewhere along the way, she fell asleep without even realizing it.

\--x--

A few hazy moments passed before Elizabeth registered the voice calling out her name, breaking through the haze of her slumber. She took a slow breath and mindlessly embraced the warmth that surrounded her. It took her several seconds to register the sensation for what it was.

"Morning," John breathed, and his hold on her tightened fractionally as he gave a squeeze. "I think you're drooling on me, 'lizabeth."

"Hmm not," she muttered in protest, before she blinked groggily.

In the next instant, she was jolted fully awake when she found John staring up at her from underneath. She quickly drew back and looked around, disoriented, and it took her a split second to remember the events of the previous night. The cloistered night. A quick glance around informed her that the others were nowhere in sight; John and Elizabeth had been abandoned to their own.

She scrubbed a hand through her tangled curls as her face heated. "Where is everybody?"

"Don't know," John replied, rising up after her. "I woke up, and we were the last two."

Though he tried to hide it by stretching his arms and glancing away, Elizabeth saw the small smirk burgeoning on his lips. She silently glared at him, slowly scrambling to her feet before John could crack a joke about it. It was obvious that the others had planned this – some weak attempt to play matchmaker, perhaps? It was her fault for falling for it, but did they really think that leaving them alone in the backyard the morning after a cloistered night would lead to a make-up?

Make-out, maybe, but a make-up was on a whole other level.

"Hey." She turned on her heels to find Laura standing in the patio doorway, arms crossed defensively over her chest. "Elizabeth," she said. "Your partner's out front."

Elizabeth blinked. "What?"

"Sumner," Laura supplied, shrugging stiffly. "He's out front. He wants to talk to you."

There was a slow sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach, then Elizabeth acknowledged Laura with a faint nod. She glanced down at her watch and realized she hadn't reported in to work in nearly twenty-four hours. But how had Sumner even known she was here? She ran a hand through her hair, and asked Cadman to tell Sumner to wait for a few moments while she collected herself.

But Laura wasn't receptive to that. "Whatever," she muttered in irritation. "I'm not your messenger."

"Cadman," John cut in, with a warning tone.

Laura's eyes flashed, and petulantly like a child being told to behave, she turned back to Elizabeth. "He's waiting in the back room. I'm sure you can find it on your own."

Laura turned on her heels and stalked away without another word. The cold front was entirely uncharacteristic for the usually enthusiastic and friendly younger werewolf, but Elizabeth was all too aware of Cadman's temper, too. The other woman never kept silent about things that bothered her. It had always been obvious that some of her kin still harbored stinging feelings over Elizabeth's abandonment. Elizabeth wasn't surprised, but she'd be lying if she said she wasn't disheartened by it.

John rose to his feet, sheepishly scrubbing a hand across his neck. "Cadman's just—"

"—angry with me," Elizabeth acknowledged, bluntly. "I gathered that."

To his credit, John didn't try to deny the obvious. Elizabeth reached down and snatched her jacket from the floor, quickly shrugging it over her shoulder, trying to look a smidge more presentable before she confronted Sumner. If she knew her partner – and she did, rather well – than his mood this morning was going to be rough.

In Sumner's eyes, John was simply the ex that caused her nothing but trouble.

Elizabeth quickly walked back through the patio doors, weaving through the dark hallways towards the back rooms. She paused briefly at each door to check the occupants, and finally she stepped into one of the rooms and surveyed the area, finding Sumner waiting for her with a file dangling at his side.

"Hey," he greeted stiffly. "Been busy, I see."

She could tell a lot by his tone, and Elizabeth instinctively knew to tread lightly. "Marshall, what are you—"

"I ask," Sumner cut in, "because yesterday morning I left you with a stack of photos and haven't heard from you since. I'd assumed you'd gone home to rest for the day, but then when I tried to call you, your cell phone went straight to voicemail."

She paused, reaching into her pocket and withdrew her cell phone. The battery was dead. Still, it was no excuse, and abruptly she realized that she'd basically gone off the grid for nearly twenty-four hours. "Yeah, this wa—" she stopped short, then threw a bewildered look towards him. "Wait, how did you know I was here?"

He stared at her for one long, hard second, and then deadpanned in a cold voice, "I'm a detective."

They stared off at each other. "Marshall, don't do this."

"Do what, exact—"

John's voice entered into the fray, "Everything alright in here?"

Elizabeth pivoted as John walked into the room, and the tension suddenly tripled as the two men eyed each other coolly. They had never gotten along particularly well, but Elizabeth found the level of animosity in the room a little surprising, even for them.

"Sheppard."

"Sumner," John returned, and their tones were so clipped that Elizabeth shifted under the weight of the awkward tension. "Been a long time."

He shot John a look and focused again on Elizabeth. "Not long enough for my tastes."

"Marshall," Elizabeth warned.

She knew the cause behind her partner's ire. Sumner had been the one to pick up the pieces after she'd broken it off with John and the pack. He'd seen up-close and personal how dysfunctional she'd been for the longest time as she tried to reestablish the "normal" routine of life. He never knew the real reason they'd broken up – couldn't, as it was implicitly tied to the murder Elizabeth had committed – but he'd always maintained a distrust for John because he'd always presumed it was John that had screwed things up so royally.

If he only knew the truth, Elizabeth suspected he'd never speak to her ever again. Few things were more sacrosanct to Sumner than loyalty, and one of them was honesty. He'd never forgive her for the murder; much less hiding it from him all these years. Elizabeth's throat closed off as the thought reverberated around her. Sumner was an honest cop, through and through, down to his very bones.

It was with that thought registering in her head that Elizabeth suddenly found herself avoiding eye-contact. "Marshall, it's not what you think." She waved a hand back and forth between John and herself. "I just spent the night, but nothing happened between us."

Sumner just stared at her; his disbelieving expression more telling than words.

John tried to back her up. "She's telling the tru—"

"I wasn't asking for your input," Sumner interrupted harshly.

John's eyes flashed. "Look, I get that you're surp--"

"Surprised? If only, you scruffied-haired son of a—"

Elizabeth reacted quickly, stepping in between. "Alright, that's enough." She leveled them both with a glare, warding off anymore petty insults. The two of them together had always been worse than two schoolyard boys fighting. She turned to John with her eyes pleading. "Could you give us a moment? I need to talk to Marshall in private."

John hesitated as he glanced back and forth between the two. After a pause he reluctantly stepped back and retreated, stomping away with, Elizabeth knew, a glowering expression growing on his face. Elizabeth's eyes drifted shut briefly, before she turned back to Sumner with a tense exhale.

"Marshal—"

"I've been looking through the files O'Neill sent us," Sumner cut in briskly, raising the vanilla folder in his hands. "You should probably take a look at them, too."

Elizabeth blinked, thrown by the abrupt change in topic. "What?"

"The files," Sumner repeated pointedly, and Elizabeth knew by his tone that he didn't want to discuss anything else. "Cheyenne's vampire blood market ran in the summer of '01. There were a few paranormal deaths from O.D.s."

Elizabeth's lips thinned into a line; Sumner was always a pro at avoiding personal problems. It was why he was so focused and accomplished in his work.

After a brief pause, she shook her head fractionally and reluctantly followed his lead. There was no point to arguing with Sumner now, and quite frankly, the fewer confrontations she had at the moment, the better. When he passed along the files, she spent a second or two flipping through the pages.

That was when she made the connections in her head – the summer of '01. Zaddik Keller had been living in Cheyenne during that period. Could it be… was it possible? She shook her head quickly to expel the thought, careful to keep her face a blank mask around Sumner. She'd return to the tenuous thread later.

They both knew the Cheyenne coroner personally, so Elizabeth simply asked, "You talk to Frasier yet? She have anything to add?"

"Nothing that'll help us," Sumner replied. "And that's pretty much all the use those files gave us. The drug trafficking stopped all of a sudden towards the summer's end. No one knew why. O'Neill's team was chasing their tales most of the time."

"The vampires probably put a stop to it," Elizabeth mused softly.

Sumner grunted. "Maybe. You talk to Kenmore lately?"

Elizabeth paused, her fingers slipping between the pages as she flipped one more sheet over. "Not lately," she murmured. "I will soon enough. In fact, I'll swing by today."

"Nice of you to rejoin the investigation," Sumner muttered in irritation.

Elizabeth glanced up with a glare. "That's not fair, Marshall. You know I've been working on this case night and day for the last few weeks."

"What were you doing yesterday, then?" he inquired. Elizabeth froze, unable to answer his question honestly. Sumner grew visibly agitated. "Playing hookie with Sheppard, I guess?"

There was no way she could deny that without having to explain further.

Sumner glowered. "Look, whatever you do with your private life, it's private. Your business. I get that." He paused, and his eyes turned so dark and incensed, Elizabeth stood frozen under the heat of them. "But if the bastard hurts you again, they'll be nothing stopping me from fuckin' carving the silver bullets myself, you hear me?"

"Marshall," Elizabeth mumbled, floored by the declaration. "You don't need to worry about that! John isn't going to hurt me." She paused, painfully admitting, "If it's anything, it'll be the other way around. He's not the bad guy in this situation."

"You keep saying that, and you keep getting hurt," Sumner countered stubbornly. "The guy's bad news for you. When are you going to learn that?" She opened and closed her mouth, but Sumner waved the topic away with a gesture before she could recover. He strode to the side couch and retrieved his trench coat, shrugging it on quickly. "I'm headed home to catch some downtime. I've been up for past forty hours. Call me if you find anything." He turned towards her, his gaze piercing. "Call me, Elizabeth."

Elizabeth nodded faintly. "I will."

He stormed out of the room. Frozen and still, she watched him walk away, feeling rather like a gutted fish in his wake. Heavy silence swallowed the small enclosure. She knew Sumner was only looking out for her, and that he didn't even have the full picture, but his words rang in her ears as clear as church bells. Doubts festered, but they weren't about John. They were entirely centered about herself.

If anyone was the bad guy in this situation, it was Elizabeth. She was the one that kept stringing him along; coming back to him; showing weakness. John was just responding the way he'd been wired to, protect his kin at all costs.

She had to stop doing _this_ , and though Elizabeth had just begun bridging the gap with her old pack, she suddenly felt like she'd taken one step forward and two steps back. Her presence in this place abruptly seemed awkward and wrong, especially since she was aware that this all could end with a confession that would get her thrown in jail. Even with all the complications that Necromancy brought about, a murder had taken place. The possibility of prison time was still all too real.

She clutched the file in her hand, and wandered down the hallway to retrieve the last of her belongings, hoping to make a quick and quiet exit before she'd have to explain herself. It was the coward's way out, but the thought of being around her pack right then was suddenly heartbreaking. It was an old routine with her – she'd had always been an expert at dodging calls and avoiding people when she wanted to stew in her misery.

She needed to retreat. Avoid. Regroup.

"Where are you headed?" A voice rang out, stopping Elizabeth as her hand fisted around the doorknob. Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder to find Laura standing in the connecting hallway. Laura's eyes darkened as she realized the obvious, and she shook her head in exasperation. "You realize that Rodney's in the kitchen right now making you pancakes? He's expecting you to stay for breakfast. Everybody is."

Elizabeth turned toward her and repressed a wince. "Tell them something came up and I had to go."

Laura's jaw clenched.

"It's complicated," Elizabeth insisted.

"Fine. Go. Run," Laura barked harshly. "But one of these days, you're gonna have to stop running from what you are, Elizabeth. You're one of us, and when that day comes and you remember it again… I just hope this pack is still willing to take you back."

Elizabeth's eyes stung, but she tried not to let the tears that were pricking her eyes blur her resolve. "I know. You think I don't know that? I've struggled for the last two years not to end up back here. I never wanted to cause anyone anymore pain."

Laura released a harsh breath. "Damn it, Elizabeth. I don't want your guilt or recrimination. None of us do. We just want—"

Elizabeth didn't let her finish. "Stop. Whatever you're going to say, just don't. This is hard enough as it is. I'm doing this for everybody's good."

"What? Abandoning us again?"

"Yes," she insisted. "Better now than later."

She pulled open the door, and quickly descended the steps with her heels rapping against the concrete. Behind her, she was aware that Laura stood stiffly in confusion before she slammed the door shut with a loud and angry bang. Elizabeth didn't break her stride. She couldn't afford to; couldn't let the thought of her pack's ire crumble her resolve. She got in her car and pulled away quickly, flooring the accelerator as she sped down the empty road.

In her preoccupation, she never noticed the mysterious black BMW parked just outside the rusting gates of the building. She never noticed the elderly man sitting inside, glowering at her from behind the driver's seat.

She never noticed the stench of sulfur hanging in the air.

\--x--


	7. Chapter 7

\--x--

The day started out badly and then went to hell.

By the time Elizabeth arrived back at her place, she was making a mental list of things gone wrong and the tally was running high. She quickly dropped her gun and her badge on the living room table, set her cell phone for charging and jogged up the stairs to change; her mind entirely preoccupied as she did everything in automode. Elizabeth could scarcely think beyond the scope of what had just happened, though; Laura's accusations tumbling around in her head.

She pushed aside her bedroom door, toed off her shoes and reached for the hemline of her shirt to tug off.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a voice rang out. Elizabeth whirled around, reaching for the gun that was no longer resting on her hipbone. She squinted into the darkness, straining to make out her intruder but he was steeped in the shadows. When he finally stepped forward, a splash of light highlighted the sharp angles of his features. "Not that I wouldn't mind the show," Michael mused with a faint smile. "It's just I don't want to get into another tussle with your Neanderthal boyfriend."

Elizabeth's heart was caught in her throat. "What are you doing here, Michael?"

Instead of explaining, he turned and began to walk away, examining a few knick-knacks on her dresser. Among them was an old African figurine of four women holding hands in a circle, and he lifted the porcelain statue and eyed the shine of it in better light. Meanwhile, as covertly as she could manage, her fingers sharpened into claws. The body transformation was harder to achieve, though, as it was closer to a new moon rather than a full one. The further away from a full moon and its sway, the harder it was to call forth her lycanthrope mutations.

She couldn't manage a full change, but maybe she could alter enough to do some serious damage with her claws if it came to it.

"Mohatias," Michael murmured in appreciation, naming the figurine in his hands. "The goddesses of wisdom, beauty, spirit and discipline. This must have been a gift from Teyla?"

He wasn't wrong. "What are you doing here, Michael?" she repeated in a firm tone, body tense with the possible threat of attack. "How did you even get inside?"

He shrugged unapologetically, and turned to face her. "Detective Weir, I learned to pick locks centuries ago. I came here to see if you knew where Teyla was."

She paused, faceting onto his strangely human eyes that were darkened with genuine concern. Or, at least, it looked genuine in this angle of light. Conflicted, she studied him. Teyla's missing presence had been bothering Elizabeth for some time. It seemed others had noticed her absence as well.

But in the next second, his presence triggered another pressing concern.

Elizabeth reached into her pocket and emerged with the familiar photo; the edges of it now bent and creased with abuse. "First, answer a question of mine. What were you doing with Teyla in this cemetery that day?"

Brows knit together in confusion, his eyes fell to the photo. He studied it for a moment, disquieted, then glanced up with eyes flashing. "You were following me?"

"Just answer the question."

Except Michael turned away, glancing towards the curtained window where the sun threatened to stream through. Elizabeth followed his gaze and remembered the time of day. Elizabeth was struck with how rarely she saw him during the daytime. He'd taken a risk coming here, as it was notoriously complicated for vampires to move about the city while the sun was still out.

It wasn't impossible, but few vampires took the risk.

She paused and searched his face. Whatever she thought of his kind, it was obvious Michael had genuine affection for Teyla. Whatever else there was to debate about Michael – whether he was good, bad, a killer, or simply misunderstood - that was the one thing Elizabeth had never really questioned.

The man brought his gaze to hers and held it. "If I answer your question, will you answer one of mine?"

She lifted her chin and nodded once. "If I can, then I will."

He brushed imaginary lint off the cuffs of his long, black coat. He was quiet for a moment before speaking. "I met Teyla that day in the cemetery because she asked me to. She had another one of her… _feelings_."

"A premonition?"

"No, it was vaguer than that." He waved to the picture in her hands and Elizabeth drew it up to examine it again, though by this point she'd memorized every detail in it by heart. "You can see, we were standing in front of an empty grave. Teyla could sense the future occupant of that slot was somehow important. Someone significant."

"Significant how?"

"To Atlantis," Michael clarified. "She sensed that this person was going to affect Atlantis in some deep way."

Elizabeth glanced down at the glossy surface of the photo. "Why did Teyla come to you?"

Michael flashed one of his trademark smiles — the one with the boyish charm to it, deceptively innocent. "I own the St. Augustine Cemetery, along with much of the surrounding territory. She wanted to know if anyone had brought the slot. It was a strictly professional meeting."

"And?" Elizabeth goaded.

The man tilted his head and considered her. She saw flecks of curiosity in his gaze, and when he spoke his voice grew suspicious. "Why do you want to know so badly?"

Elizabeth debated internally for half a breath, before she stepped forward to bring the picture closer to him. She pointed out the blonde figure in the back. "Do you know who that woman is?"

"Should I?"

"Just answer the question," Elizabeth replied. "Do you know who she is?"

But Michael shook his head, a touch angrily. "I'm not answering anymore questions, Detective. I came here looking to see if you knew anything about Teyla's whereabouts. I haven't been able to reach her for nearly twenty-four hours, and no one knows anything. Do you?"

Elizabeth paused, and a swell of concern overtook her as she averted her gaze. She was aware that her own growing misgivings about Teyla's absence had been overshadowed by other concerns yesterday; so distracted that she hadn't been able to pay more attention to what was going on with one of her closest friends. Though Teyla was more than capable of taking care of herself. In fact, she was the most capable individual Elizabeth knew.

"I don't know anything," Elizabeth confessed. "Just that Teyla isn't likely to disappear like this without a good reason."

"Or she's in trouble," Michael countered, scrubbing a hand through his hair as his normal rigid composure slipped ever so slightly to show cracks. "She was after that dark mage, you know? That's not a joking matter."

"Did she have any leads?" she asked, but Michael paused, beginning to show a certain lack of enthusiasm with her barrage of questions. Biting down on her impatience, she took a deep breath and realized she needed to give a little before she got any more information. Reluctantly, with her gaze resting on the picture in her hand, she spoke softly, "This woman's name is Jennifer Keller, and I have reason to believe that her father is using black magic."

When she glanced up, she was surprised to see comprehension dawning on Michael's face. "Zaddik Keller."

Shocked, Elizabeth asked, "You know him?"

"Of him, a little," Michael corrected with determination darkening his eyes. "But I'll..." He released a harsh breath and turned towards her bedroom door swiftly, suddenly storming out without another word. Elizabeth called after him as she followed his footsteps but Michael never broke his stride. "I'll find out everything paranormal there is to know about him by the end of the day."

"Michael," she stopped him on the steps of her staircase.

But quickly anything she had to say died on her lips and she was silent for a moment. If anybody could get paranormal information quickly, Elizabeth was inclined to believe it was a powerful vampire like Michael. He'd probably make more headway than anybody with a badge, as few paranormals ever talked openly with police unless they absolutely had to.

"Tell me what you find," she finished with a firm tone. She knew men like Michael understood few things, so when she continued she made sure her voice hardened with a warning, "I'm not being kept out of the loop any longer, do you hear me? If I find out you're withholding sensitive information regarding an on-going investigation, then I'll come after you. I'll make that nice cozy arrangement the vampires have with this city a thing of the past. Do you understand me?"

All of that was one big, damn bluff.

He lifted his gaze to her, a small smirk growing on his lips. "Understood, Detective."

She wondered if he was mocking her, and decided after a moment that he wasn't. "Good."

"You ready to answer my question now?"

Elizabeth wrapped her fingers tightly around the cold metal banister. "Hit me with your best shot."

"Do you know who the Gingerbread Man is?"

For a moment, she thought she heard wrong. "What?"

"The Gingerbread Man," Michael reiterated, articulating the words slowly and clearly to make sure she understood. "Do you know how he is?"

Her brow knit together in naked confusion. "Is this some type of joke?"

Michael released a harsh breath and turned away, descending the last few steps. "That'd be a no, then."

"What is this all about?"

Michael shook his head and retrieved a large black blanket at the bottom of the staircase that was no possession of hers; one she hadn't even noticed on her way up. Acutely Elizabeth realized that was what he'd used to get here – what he used to cover himself up when he was moving through the direct sunlight. The slightest hint of skin exposure under the sun, and his body would start to sizzle and burn, but under the cover of a heavy-duty blanket such as that, at least he had minimal protection for a short period of time.

"Check your answering machine," Michael informed her after a moment. "You've got a message."

He hauled the blanket over his head and shoulders, and then swung open her front door. Light from outside flooded her foyer and he barreled out before she could say anything further. Outside, she heard the vague noise of a car door being opened and slammed shut, and when she tugged her curtains aside and glanced out her window, she made out a tinted black sedan with Cheyenne plates pulling away from her curb.

After a brief pause, her eyes were drawn to her answering machine in the corner. The light was flashing, indicating an awaiting message. Michael had been spying while he'd been here. The thought provoked her ire, but repressing a deep sigh she crossed the carpeted flooring and hit the play button. The answering machine informed her she had one message from earlier in the previous day, nearly twenty-four hours ago.

 _"Elizabeth,"_ Teyla's rushed voice rang across the silent room. _"Pick up if you are there, Elizabeth. It is vital I speak to you… Are you there? ... Very well, when you get this message, contact me immediately. I've had another premonition, and I fear I may be in trouble, Elizabeth. I fear we all are."_

There was another pause, and in the background to the recording, Elizabeth could pick up the blare of a car horn and traffic passing by. Teyla was obviously on the road, or near it, when she had placed this call. And though there was a touch of static and plenty of background noise in the recording, Elizabeth could still sense the tense anxiety when Teyla spoke again.

 _"I have a message for you. I have no idea what it means, but it came to me last night and it is significant. Pay attention, Elizabeth. This warning is one that you must heed."_

Unconsciously, Elizabeth stepped closer to the machine.

 _"The Gingerbread Man,"_ Teyla breathed in a somber voice that seemed entirely misplaced with the words. _"Protect the Gingerbread Man. You must save this man; guide him. I have no idea who he is or what is meant by this name that comes to me, but in time, you will know. You will recognize him. He needs your help, Elizabeth. Do not turn him away. Get him out. Set him free."_ She paused gravely. _"Whatever you do, help him."_

\--x--

By the time she finally made it back to work, she'd had enough time to all but shrug off her coat before the yelling began. "Weir!" Caldwell barked from his office across the bullpen. "Where the hell have you been? I'd like a word."

She closed her eyes and breathed deeply, envisioning a world where her day would _not_ give her reasons to scream incoherently on a regular basis. It was beautiful world, with sunshine and rainbows and puppy dogs. Frustrated that she only had reality to deal with, she hung her coat on the back of her chair and reluctantly wove passed the clutter of desks. She approached the Captain's office, hovering around the doorway until he waved her fully in. She closed the door behind her.

"You better have a good reason for going AWOL like that."

Elizabeth kept standing, hands clasped in front. "I was following up on leads."

"Anything work out?" Caldwell prompted.

Elizabeth shrugged at the demand and offered quietly, "Nothing particularly, no."

Caldwell settled back, clearly wary as he studied her from the cushions of his comfy chair. He didn't believe her. While he was a hard-ass, the truth was Caldwell was actually a good cop and a decent boss. They didn't get along at times, mostly due to a difference in personalities that could never quite be meshed, but the one thing she had going with Caldwell all these years was mutual respect.

After a moment, he let the topic slide as he shifted focus. "The giant we have in lock-up?" Caldwell informed. "Ronon Dex. We got a visit from his master yesterday after you left."

"Former master," Elizabeth automatically corrected, then paused. "Chaya Sar? What did she want?"

"Apparently, she wanted to drop all the harassment charges against him."

She frowned. "Why?"

Caldwell shrugged. "My guess? She wanted to deal with him herself. But I informed Ms. Sar that the city would still be following through on indicting Dex on the illegal possession of the arsenal in his trunk. I don't want this guy getting off that easily. We might never get another sniff of him."

"You sound like you know a thing or two about him that I don't—"

He waved her off before she could finish. "O'Neill called again," Caldwell enlightened her. "Apparently this guy has been wanted in connection to a slew of vampire slayings up north in Cheyenne. Nothing concrete, though. He's apparently known well among certain paranormal circles as a vampire hunter." He sighed. "I almost admire the guy for that."

Caldwell's opinion of vampires was really rather simple: the only good vampire was a dead one. And as far as the new information about Ronon's history? Elizabeth wasn't remotely surprised that the man was somehow connected to vampire slayings. The image fit perfectly in her head.

Caldwell continued, "Anyway, the guy's just too damn good at staying below the radar, though a weapons' charge won't hold him for long. But I figure he'll be damn near impossible to catch again if we cut him loose. Damn Gingerbread Man."

Elizabeth froze, the breath knocked right out of her. "What did you say?"

"You know, the Gingerbread Man?" Caldwell offered distractedly with a wave of his hand. "Run, run, as fast as you can. You can't catch me, I'm the Gingerbread Man," he parodied. "Lame joke, I know. But the guys at my old precinct used to love calling criminals that. Used to rile them up good."

Elizabeth scarcely heard him anymore, too caught up in the revelation: Ronon was the man she had to protect. The damn Gingerbread Man. The nonesensical name actually made sense. Distracted, Elizabeth didn't register Caldwell's voice until he repeated himself twice.

"Detective Weir?"

She glanced up at him, and steadily, growing determination swelled as she bore Teyla's message in mind. _Get him out. Set him free. Whatever you do, help him._ A plan was formulated in the next split second, and though it'd take a little finagling for her to pull off, she suddenly knew what she had to do.

"Captain," she began, "how dead-set are you about indicting him? Because I've got a suggestion that you might want to hear."

\--x--

Several hours later, Elizabeth scribbled her signature on the last of the paperwork and waited while two blue uniforms escorted Ronon out back. A deal had been struck, though Ronon had barely played any part in it except grunting in agreement while Elizabeth laid out the accommodating offer.

Caldwell had given Elizabeth twenty-four hours to find out anything she could from Ronon, and if the man coughed up any useful information regarding the vampire blood market that led to arrests, he'd get amnesty on his weapons charges. The unusual part of the deal was that Elizabeth was taking him out of his cell, dragging him along for a ride outside before he'd volunteered any information at all. As far as most cops were concerned, that was just plain reckless. Elizabeth admitted she'd normally agree, but Teyla's words in her head just wouldn't go away.

"Get in the car," Elizabeth instructed as she swung around to the driver's side.

They drove in silence for a while as Elizabeth maneuvered through the streets and onto the highway. She planned to let the silence linger until Ronon broke the spell, but he proved to be annoyingly comfortable with the hush. When she finally pulled up the same diner she'd been to the previous day, with John, she parked the car and tossed a look towards Ronon.

"You hungry?"

Ronon nodded, then tugged against his restraints pointedly. She paused for a beat before she reached across and released him from the handcuffs. Ronon watched her intently while she worked; his face an impassive mask except for the hints of curiosity in his eyes. He had no idea what she was doing; Elizabeth just hoped that didn't make two of them.

Ten minutes later, they were settled into a corner booth and being served by the same waitress that had tended to Elizabeth the previous day. She merely quirked an eyebrow when Ronon began his order that was easily enough to feed three men. Oddly, Elizabeth was reminded of Rodney's insatiable appetite in that moment. The comparison brought a smile to her lips.

"What?" Ronon grunted.

Lifting her head, she drew a soft amused breath. "Nothing, just… you eat a lot."

Ronon had the ability to convey disbelief with barely a flicker of emotion. "Don't you? Thought that was one of the advantages to being a werewolf. Eat as much as you want and still be a stick-figure like you."

Elizabeth shook her head. "It's not all it's cracked up to be."

Ronon merely raised an eyebrow.

"I used to be a vegetarian," she clarified on an exasperated breath.

Ronon grinned darkly, but there was genuine amusement. Oddly, though Elizabeth knew he was laughing at her more than anything, the response made her feel a small kernel of pride. She figured it was hard to produce such a response from him. When the food finally arrived, they ate in silence, though watching the performance of Ronon dig into his steak was an entertaining spectacle she'd thought a person would only get to see on the _Animal Channel._

She clasped her hands together and braced her elbows against the hard tabletop. "You're gonna have to talk to me about the vampires, Ronon. Tell me if you know anything about what Aiden Ford was doing to them."

Ronon reached for his drink. "That's not the question you should be asking."

"What question should I be asking?"

"What was your boy doing to himself," Ronon answered pointedly. "That's the thing you gotta look at. He kidnapped some vampires, and yeah, pissed them off. Probably got killed for it, too. But why go through all that trouble? For what? Juicing on their blood?"

Elizabeth shrugged and sat back in her booth. "Our M.D. said the enzymes in the vampire blood had addictive qualities. After a while, Aiden probably had no choice to but to seek out more blood for his cravings."

"But what got him juicing in the first place?" Ronon countered. "Why go through all that when you're already a werewolf? You already got more power in you than you normally use."

It may have been her imagination, but Elizabeth thought she picked up a touch of appreciation in his voice. "You say that like you _like_ the idea of being a werewolf."

Ronon spoke distractedly, still focused on his food. "From my position, I can appreciate its' advantages."

For a moment, Elizabeth stared at him with a quiet sense of anxiety coursing through her. "I don't think you appreciate its setbacks," she warned. "It's best you don't get any foolish notions about how easy it'd be. Being a werewolf is more than just being an animal three nights a month."

"What?" Ronon ribbed, sparing her a glance. "You get cramps and bloating too?"

"You change," Elizabeth answered, something loosening her tongue to speak bluntly. "Fundamentally, on a level that has nothing to do with your DNA, you change. You crave things. You need things. Logic doesn't play a role in it, and you can lose control of yourself so easily."

Ronon paused, then tossed an arm across the back of his booth, lounging back with his eye leveled on her. His interest was suddenly peaked by her reaction. "And you want your logic? You want that control?"

"People _need_ control," Elizabeth answered firmly. "It's what separates us from the animals."

Ronon studied her for a moment, then asked, "Is it really so bad being a werewolf? I mean, honestly from your gut?"

She tipped her head back and averted her gaze, and visions of her life flashed through her mind quickly. The truth was… previously to moving to Atlantis, her life had been straight and narrow without a foot out of bounds. Her family and friends used to even call her predictable. Then she'd moved to Atlantis, and all her preconceptions about life were entirely shattered. She'd done things with her pack that had outright defied her rigid sense of appropriate and reasonable. She'd transformed in ways more than just the physical when she'd become a werewolf.

And the happiest she'd ever been in her life was when she was with her pack.

"It wasn't bad," Elizabeth admitted in a soft voice. "It was just… complicated."

Ronon glanced away with amusement darkening his eyes. "Here's a newsflash for you, Detective. _Life_ is complicated, paranormal or not."

A silence fell in the wake of Ronon's assertion, and neither filled the void for the next few minutes. Elizabeth's thoughts were far from restful when her cell phone rang.

"Weir, her—"

"Elizabeth!" Rodney's alarm reverberated across. "Elizabeth, you need to get over here now!"

She stiffened immediately. "Rodney, wha—?"

"I don't know! I don't know! I went upstairs to talk to Sheppard but he wasn't… and there's so much _blood_! There was a fight but nobody heard anything! And there's a message, too, and he's nowhere to be found!"

"What?" Elizabeth exclaimed into the phone. "Slow down, Rodney."

"John's missing," Rodney explained in a rushed voice. "Don't you understand? He's been taken!"

\--x--

Elizabeth made it back to the pack's building in record time, barely pausing long enough to ensure that Ronon followed her up the steps of the building in her wake. Rodney greeted her at the door and explained in a rushed, nearly frenzied string of words that after she'd left in the morning, John had retired to his room. When Rodney had gone to check up on him an hour ago, he'd found something else entirely.

Elizabeth smelled the scent of John's blood long before she entered the room. As she pushed aside the door, her focus stalled on the sheer amount of blood before she registered anything else. The bedspread was splashed with John's blood, along with the overturned dresser and broken mirror in the corner. It was obvious a struggle had occurred; just as obvious as it was that John had evidently lost the fight. Her gaze traveled the length of the room to the corner wall and her attention lingered on the most garish sight in the entire bedroom.

Written in John's blood was a sloppy message: _You took mine. Now I take yours._

A quiet and treacherous stillness washed over Elizabeth. Beside her, Rodney continued to explain but she blocked out his presence, the sounds of his words drowned out by the blood rushing in her ears. Her eyes could soak up nothing but the words - the blood, the message left for _her_. The pieces shifted into place with a snap in the same second that Elizabeth choked back the gag reflex.

Oh, god. John. He'd been taken by Zaddik.

"The first thing we could think of was to call you," Rodney murmured. "Radek's suggesting calling 911. I don't know. What do you think we should do?"

But Elizabeth's mind was stalled, caught on a loop with only one phrase in it – _Oh God, John._

His blood was everywhere, and though she knew a lycanthrope could withstand obscene amounts of harm, she couldn't imagine the level of force it'd taken to cut John down so wildly. He'd never been a slouch in the self-defense department, and that, coupled with the fact that a house full of werewolves hadn't noticed a thing amiss…

Elizabeth knew she was dealing with a dangerous type of black magic.

"Elizabeth," Rodney roused her with a firm hand on her shoulder. "What are—"

"Where is everybody?"

"Downstairs," Rodney answered her. "I gathered everybody already."

She closed her eyes and willed herself to focus, to stay calm, but inside her mate was banging against the walls, refusing to be subdued by the shackles Elizabeth had kept on her for so long. If this was what John had to contend with all these years – this battle against the primal urge to protect her kin, her lover – she was amazed he'd handled it so well. She could already feel her infamous control slipping under the strain.

But she had to focus. John's life depended on it.

She retreated from the room and quickly descended the stairs with Rodney hot on her heels. She found the rest of her kin gathered in the common area and surveyed them quickly. Her gaze stalled briefly on Ronon bracing himself against the back wall. He acknowledged her with a faint nod, and though the idea of isolating him or sending him back to jail flittered across her mind, it was quickly overridden by other concerns.

"What the hell is going on?" Laura demanded. "Who has Sheppard?"

"Shouldn't we inform the police?" Radek spoke up. "I mean, I know we called you, Elizabeth, but shouldn't we have some type of forensic—"

"No," Elizabeth cut in firmly. "The cops won't be able to handle this. This is too paranormal in nature. They wouldn't know what was going on."

"With all due respect," Lorne began, his voice twisted wryly, " _we_ don't know what the hell is going on."

Elizabeth's eyes slowly sought out Rodney. "I do," she breathed. "I know exactly what's going on."

Rodney stepped forward. "What?"

"That message was for me," Elizabeth confessed, bracing herself for the worst. She realized that this was the nastiest moment to be confessing her darkest secret, but the truth needed to come out. Her kin deserved to know what was going, and John… oh, god. The fear was choking. If something had happened to John because of _her._ "That message," she managed after roughly clearing her throat, "was from a man named Zaddik Keller."

Ronon straightened immediately, his attention suddenly piercing and focused. "Shit, lady. You pissed him off?"

Her attention snapped to him. "You know him?"

"Guy's as dirty as they come. He's working with Chaya," he informed, and Elizabeth could barely assimilate the news. She'd never factored in such a scenario but Ronon was talking before she could utter her surprise and confusion. "He's generally not the type you want to piss off."

Rodney shot a nervous look to Elizabeth and frowned. "What?" he muttered in confusion, then quickly rattled off a list of questions. "Why is he after you? What's that message about? What have you and John been doing these last few days?"

"And," Laura added in a bewildered voice, nodding towards Ronon, "who the hell is He-Man over here?"

Elizabeth ignored the last question, too focused on the landmine that was Rodney's inquiries. She licked her lips, gaze averted. "I… uh, I—"

"What, Elizabeth?" Rodney snapped, his trademark impatience shining through. "What did you do?"

"I killed his daughter."

\--x--

A while later after telling them the entire story, Elizabeth stood on the wet green grass outside in the backyard, with her gaze focussed on the endless cloudy skies above. A chilly current swept around her, curling her hair up and wafting strands into the air, and she folded her arms across her chest protectively. This summer had been unusually gloomy and dark with the weather, but it was appropriate enough.

Behind her, inside, her kin were convening and talking heatedly over options. At the heart of the discussion was one thing: Whether they could still trust her or not.

The pack wasn't normally a democracy, but things were in an unusual state of pandemonium without John's guidance. She couldn't blame them for distrusting her or harboring reservations. But time was of the essence, and so Elizabeth had to taper down on her impatience while she waited for the group to come together and reach a consensus. They could temporarily let her back into the fold (at least until John returned), or they could outright reject her.

So shortly after Elizabeth explaining the events that had transpired two years ago, and those revelations that had been exposed in the last twenty-four hours, she wasn't holding her breath on a favorable outcome. She'd lied to them for years. At another moment in time, Elizabeth would have taken a harsh dismissal from her kin with as much dignity as she could muster. Right now, though, there were more pressing concerns and she felt every second tick by like a wound lashed across her back.

Somewhere out there, John was in the hands of a dark mage with a vendetta against her.

It felt like someone was reaching into her chest, squeezing her lungs tight until she couldn't breathe. That loss caused a dull and persistent pain that ran far deeper than anything she'd previously known. Her mind was furiously caught up in self-recrimination and guilt, but above that was the fear that it may already be too late. John could already have suffered the full wrath of Zaddik's vengeance. She closed her eyes against the dark thoughts, willing composure, but there were a thousand different ways this could play out and none of them were pretty.

Ronon was across the field from her, crouched on the floor eating from what looked like a bag of chips leftover from the cloistered night. He glanced up when he caught her scrutiny, and stuffed a handful of potato chips into his mouth.

"Suddenly," he muttered around the food, "I'm getting that whole complications thing you were talking about earlier."

She glared at him, then took a drawn out breath. "So," she refocused, "Chaya's aligned with Zaddik?"

Ronon reached for a warm can of soda nearby, popping it open. "Yeah, though it's a well kept secret. The other vampires wouldn't like the idea of such an alliance."

"Why?"

"Because of the vampire blood market," Ronon answered bluntly as he took a swig from the can. "Zaddik's behind it."

An hour ago, that revelation would have had a lot more impact. She'd had an inkling before, but nothing concrete to connect the threads. Now, the correlation seemed oddly appropriate to her.

"He's kidnapping vampires for their blood and Chaya's helping him out?" she surmised quickly, almost automatically. "Why?"

Ronon offered a humorless smirk. "Bitch doesn't know the meaning of loyalty. She'd whore out anything for more power."

Elizabeth started slightly at his tone. The level of hatred in his words shouldn't have surprised her as much as it did, but she quickly refocused. "What do you know about Michael Kenmore?"

"Nothing, really," Ronon answered. "He didn't run with Chaya's circle all too often, so I didn't pay him much attention."

"Why are you telling me all this now? Why not before?"

He dropped his head briefly before looking back up at Elizabeth. "Didn't trust you before."

Her brow knit together in confusion. "And you do now? Why on Earth would you—"

The screen door slid open behind her and Elizabeth pivoted just as Rodney advanced on her; his gaze flittering to Ronon briefly before latching onto her.

"Well?" Elizabeth prodded anxiously.

"You should have told us," were to first heated remarks out of Rodney's mouth, and Elizabeth flinched at his tone. "We're your kin, and we deserved to know what was going on. And you know what? Forget the rest of them! You should have told _me_ , Elizabeth. You should have trusted me enough to—I can't believe—you never even came close to telling me! You should have trusted me enough for that! All this time and I had no idea—no clue whatsoever. I never knew why you left!"

In the wake of the rambling tongue-lashing, Elizabeth stood awkwardly frozen. She nodded faintly, afraid she understood all too well Rodney's displeasure. "I know," she breathed, arms tightening protectively over her chest. "I'm sorry, Rodney."

Rodney's shoulders sagged, and angrily repeated, "You should have told me."

"I think she got that bit," Ronon muttered from nearby in a low dry voice.

Rodney twisted to face him, his expression clearly marking his annoyance. "You mind? This is a private conversation."

Ronon rose to his feet, wiping his hands across his shirt and letting the potato chip crumbs fall to the ground. "Yeah. I'll be standing in the corner like a good little boy while you two just chat it up?"

Either Rodney ignored the sarcasm or missed it entirely. "You do that!"

Elizabeth drew his attention back. "Rodney, what did the pack decide?"

Someone cleared their throat and Elizabeth pivoted on her feet once again, this time to find the rest of her kin emerging from the house. They gathered on the wet grass across from her, and Elizabeth wondered if this was going to be the moment where the group ostracized her.

She deserved it. John was in harm's way because of her.

Rodney spoke with some annoyance in his voice, "You still haven't learned, have you?"

"What?"

Rodney rolled his eyes dramatically, grousing, "We're your family, Elizabeth. You're not getting rid of us that easily."

She sucked air in and had to remind herself to exhale. For a long moment, Elizabeth could barely comprehend the words because she had been so diligent in preparing herself for the exactly the opposite. She knew better than to assume all was forgiven and forgotten, but held in Rodney's words was a promise.

After all was said and done, they were still her kin.

She needed a second to recover from the flood of relief that threatened to overwhelm her, so she glanced away while she brushed an errant strand away from her eyes. Ronon was standing in the distance, watching the events unfold with concealed interest, but his presence only served to highlight the conspicuous absence of the man that should have been there instead.

John should have been by her side for this moment.

Letting a slow breath slip through her lips, she looked up to the sky and watched the horizon grow darker as the sun slowly descended. When she finally faced her kin again, Elizabeth regained her composure, and the Alpha female crept into the sliver of daylight and slowly raised its head.

"Okay," she said steadily, drawing another deep breath. "Then this is what we're going to do now."

\--x--

The long paved road ahead of her was empty for miles as Elizabeth pulled away from the pack's building. Ronon was in the passenger seat and they quickly fell into silence for much of the trip, only broken when Elizabeth was nearing the police department.

"You sure you're willing to do this?" Elizabeth asked, slanting a look in his direction. "You don't owe me anything, and my pack is asking a lot of you."

Ronon shook his head. "You're giving me a shot at some vampires. I don't need an excuse for that."

Fair enough, Elizabeth thought, but as much as she tried to quash it, she was reluctant to overlook the obvious. She was placing a lot of trust on a man she barely knew. Ronon was obviously against the vampires, which – temporarily, at least – aligned them on the same side. Chaya's alliance with Zaddik, as obscure as it currently was, made Ronon her ally.

But more than that, Elizabeth was willing to put so much faith in him for mainly one reason – Teyla. Her words of foretelling had never led Elizabeth astray before and Teyla had been explicit about protecting this man – the Gingerbread Man.

There were too many unknown factors, too many people in danger right now, and Elizabeth scarcely knew where to focus her attention. Teyla had gotten wrapped up in something foul with Zaddik; Elizabeth would bet her life on it. And while Elizabeth had earlier relied on Michael's help in figuring things out, she could no longer trust any vampire. Michael may have cared for Teyla, but with Chaya's alliance with Zaddik, Elizabeth didn't know what to think or who to trust. The one factor Michael held in his favor was that his mansion had been blown to smithereens by black magic. She doubted he'd align himself with the dark mage that had done it.

Still, Elizabeth mused, there was so little time and a growing number of people to distrust.

"First things first," she began, more to herself than to Ronon, "We have to regroup and figure out what happened to Teyla. We find that out and we'll be in a better position to—"

"Why not just raid Zaddik's place?" Ronon cut in, impatiently. "You know where he lives, right? Just give me a few of your werewolves and a couple of my guns, and we'll settle this quickly."

Elizabeth expelled a sharp exhale. "It's not that simple, Ronon. This is a powerful mage we're dealing with. Someone that Teyla Emmagan - the most powerful witch in the western hemisphere - had concerns about. We're not rushing in there like Rambo."

"You're wasting time," Ronon argued.

Her grip on the steering wheel tightened as she tried to curb her agitation. "I understand what's at stake here, Ronon. Trust me, I do. But we're doing this my way."

Ronon grunted and settled back against the seat. "Whatever. You're the woman in charge, right?"

Despite her uttered assurances, Elizabeth silently prayed she wasn't making things worse. But they needed more information and reinforcements if they were going to face off against a mage with unknown levels of power and influence. And they weren't just dealing with a powerful mage, but one with ties to vampires as well.

They couldn't go in there blind and angry. It'd get everybody killed.

She pulled into the police department's parking lot. "I'm meeting my partner here," she informed Ronon. "Wait here. This may take a while, but just wait."

Ronon nodded. "Sure."

Lifting one brow, Elizabeth studied him for a moment then astutely decided he might bolt the first chance he'd get. Before he could react, she retrieved an item and reached across, slapping handcuffs across one of his wrists and securing the other end to the steering wheel.

"Hey!" Ronon grunted in protest. "What the fuck, lady?"

"Language," Elizabeth admonished cheekily as she pushed open the door. "I'll be back in a few. Sit tight." He lobbied more profanity at her as she walked around to the trunk. She spent a few seconds gathering a few belongings from the back, but her mind was too preoccupied to focus on the task. "Damn it, Elizabeth," she muttered to herself. "Keep it together."

She pinched the bridge of her nose and sighed in frustration, well aware of the source of her current bout of anxiety. Confessing to her kin was one thing, but somehow the idea of confessing to Sumner managed to terrify her in a way she couldn't adequately put into words. Elizabeth would have to do it, though, as she had now begun to travel down a road she could no longer turn back from.

But a moment after the thought arose, she quickly discarded it.

Elizabeth needed Sumner's help first, and once John was safe and sound, _then_ she'd be willing to take whatever recrimination Sumner would throw at her for Ellia Keller's death. Even if it meant that Sumner was the one that slapped the cuffs across her wrists, himself. She forcibly banished the thought when she glanced up to find Sumner's car pulling into a parking spot across from the entrance.

Pausing for a moment to mentally prepare herself, she slammed the car trunk closed and then strode across the pavement. Sumner climbed out of his car and they met halfway, lingering in the middle of the empty parking lot.

"Hey," he greeted. "I got your message. What's the emergency?"

She went without any preamble. "John's been kidnapped by the new mage in town."

"What?" Sumner exclaimed in shock. "When?"

"Just now," she answered quickly, "I think… I think the mage is doing it to get to me, to…" she paused briefly as she took another steadying breath, and then sullied the truth, "to stall my investigation into the blood market. I know who's behind it now."

"You do? Since when?"

"Ronon Dex, our new informant," Elizabeth surmised quickly with a nod towards her car. Inside, Ronon was still glowering at her. "He told me that the man behind the vampire blood experiments is a mage named Zaddik Keller. He's extraordinarily powerful, and I wouldn't be surprised if he's done something to Teyla, too."

"What? Teyla?" Sumner barked in surprise. "Whoa, slow down for a second. I'm having whiplash here."

"We don't have time," Elizabeth countered adamantly. "We need to start now. John and Teyla could already be... god, they could be…" she faltered, unable to finish the thought, too busy trying not to consider the implications of both of them under Zaddik's thumb.

"Yeah," Sumner murmured, jaw clenched as he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. "Yeah, yeah, okay. Let me just… Jesus Christ, just give me a moment. Let me grab a couple of things from my car and we'll go inside the precinct and—"

"No." Elizabeth shook her head fractionally. "We can't afford to let the others know. This is something we have to handle delicately."

"Elizabeth," Sumner protested. "That's not—"

"It's John, Marshall," Elizabeth reiterated in a desperate voice. "It's John."

Sumner's eyes darkened in sympathy, but he was still shaking his head. "All the more reason to do this the right way with our boys."

"The guys in there wouldn't know how to handle a mage," Elizabeth argued. "I came to you because you're my partner and I trust you with my life, but I can't go in there and turn this into just another investigation. Too much is at stake, and I need to control the situation."

"You're not thinking with your head."

"I am," she defied, "Trust me, this is the smart way to play it."

He slanted a look towards her, scrutinizing her resolve and focus. Elizabeth met his stare evenly, willing him to believe and trust her on this. Sumner had always been there for her, and she doubted he'd back away now when it mattered the most. She just had to convince him quickly.

Finally with a tense exhale, he nodded in agreement. "Fine, we'll do this your way."

She breathed a sigh of relief. "Get your stuff. We'll take my car."

Sumner turned towards her car for a second. "Chewbacca doesn't look happy in there."

"That's because I handcuffed him to the steering wheel."

Sumner snorted an appreciative laugh. "Some days, woman, I swear you were born just to keep me entertained."

They shared a look and she couldn't help but smile in response. She shook her head as she turned on her heels. "Get your stuff," she called over her shoulder as she began walking away. "We need to get on the road now. I'll fill you in on the plan."

"So there's a plan?" Sumner hollered at her retreating form.

"Yes!"

His voice twisted wryly, "I feel reassured already."

She was almost back to her car when her cell phone rang. She answered it quickly, then stopped dead in her tracks when she recognized the voice on the other end. "Fool," Zaddik Keller muttered angrily at her. "You shouldn't have gone for aid to your colleagues. I can't afford for anymore police to get involved. You should have thought of that, if only for your precious mate's sake."

Elizabeth found her voice had gone cold. "You hurt John—"

Zaddik didn't let her finish. "John isn't the one you should be worried about right now. I suggest you duck and cover."

And then the phone went dead.

Elizabeth froze for a second, staring blankly at the phone as she brought it down from her ear. The empty silence on the other end was like a siren, ringing alarms through her head. She had no more than a second before the epiphany struck her and Zaddik's warning made a perverse amount of sense.

She whirled around to find Sumner had nearly reached his car, and screamed, "Sumner! Get down! Bomb!"

But she was too late.

The explosion rocked the earth, and Elizabeth was flung back, thrown clear across the pavement as the heat of the blast expanded. She slammed into the side of her car, the wind knocked out of her as the explosion spread out and debris went flying everywhere. For a moment afterwards as she recovered, Elizabeth felt like the world was spinning around and the only thing she registered besides the pain was the faint ringing sound in her ears.

"Weir!" Ronon called out from inside the car, rattling angrily against his cuffs. "You all right out there?!"

Elizabeth groaned, trying to concentrate on forming words instead of on the throbbing pain in her temples. She braced her hands against the pavement and pushed her body upright. Her head and chest hurt like it was caught on fire, and she winced when she touched the back of her head, right where her skull had made solid contact with the side of her car. Her fingers came back covered in blood. Still nursing her bruised body, Elizabeth let her attention drift to the image across the parking lot.

Sumner was lying on his side in the middle of the pavement, covered in his own blood.

Her eyes snapped open and she was on her feet and running in an instant, ignoring her own injuries as alarm coursed through her. She reached him and dropped down onto her knees, frantic. "Marshall! God! Answer me," she pleaded as she gathered the back of his shirt in her fist and tugged him over, finding his face covered in dirt and soot. There was a long stretch of silence that left her chilled, but then he groaned. "Oh, god. I've got you," she breathed anxiously. "You're all right, Marshall."

But he had an ugly slash across his forehead that was spilling blood down the left side of his temple, and when Elizabeth ran a sweeping gaze down his body, her stomach turned with the sight of so much blood. He had several injuries that looked horrific, but the worst was by far the belly wound. She pressed her hand against the nasty gash, and Sumner choked on a grisly scream.

With increasing panic, she tried to control her voice. "It's all right, you're gonna be fine." She turned up to find two policeman rushing out of the precinct doors. "Get an ambulance!" she screamed the order. "We need medical attention now!"

Bates took off.

"You're fine," she insisted to Sumner. "You're going to be fine."

"Liar," he lobbied back, then grimaced as she pressed harder on his wound, trying to stem the gushing flow of blood. He cursed again, but his voice was strained and his eyes were glazed over in anguish. He seemed to lose focus for a moment, but then gathered himself and continued, "Do me a favor, wouldya?"

"Shh, Marshall," Elizabeth muttered anxiously. "Save your energy."

Tears stung her eyes, and furious with herself, she blinked them back and tried to remain calm. Unwilling to believe the worst, she scanned her surroundings in search for more help. She found nothing of use. Ronon was still trapped in the car and the other policemen were slow to come to her aid. She could make out Caldwell in the distance, shouting orders left and right as he emerged from the building. His gaze caught on hers briefly and she shared a look with Caldwell that was nakedly desperate.

"Get this bastard for me," Sumner choked off, dragging her attention back to him as he clutched her hand greedily. "Don't let him get away with this."

And then, before Elizabeth could recover with a response, he took a ragged breath, and then his fingers tightened slightly and fell away. His eyes stared up at her, suddenly vacant and still, and Elizabeth couldn't formulate a word, not even a thought. By the time Caldwell dropped to his knees next to her, she was listless. Unfocused. She just waited a beat, watching Sumner's face blankly through a veneer of gathering tears. She was left unwilling to believe reality.

Unwilling to believe that her partner had just died in her arms.

\--x--


	8. Chapter 8

\--x--

As the sky shadowed into black, the parking lot quickly transformed into a crime scene. The weather turned murky as an unusual storm front darkened the skies, and though Atlantis was barraged with a series of rainy days lately, Elizabeth wondered how long it would before this storm passed.

She drew the Atlantis PD-issued blanket tight across her body as she watched the paramedics load Sumner into the body bag. From across the parking lot, she could barely make out her partner's stark features but the image of his expressionless face was more than fresh in her mind. Lifeless blue eyes of a good man haunted her. She felt numb, cold, and the listless feeling had yet to abate.

As if the aftermath itself wasn't painful enough, Elizabeth was forced to answer – or plead ignorance – to a barrage of questions as she stood there watching her partner being carried away. A cold burden settled on her shoulders, thick and heavy and damp but Elizabeth refused to be bowed by the weight. She refused to succumb to the emotions that would turn her anger inwards; not when there was a worthy outside target to deal with, first.

Caldwell shook his head and sighed. "We should take you inside now," he spoke softly. "You don't have to be here for this."

"I'm fine," Elizabeth voice was even, not a flicker of emotion to betray it. "You don't have to worry about me breaking down. It's not going to happen."

Surprisingly, the words weren't for show. Instead of being caught up in a whirlwind, lost to the currents of grief and guilt, Elizabeth felt a surreal and unnatural stillness wash over like ocean water. It was quiet, composed… dangerous, even. For the first time in recent history, Elizabeth didn't dare try to soothe the Alpha female within her.

Caldwell considered her with a long pause. "If you don't know who did this, then there's nothing you can do right now. Let the forensics team do their work."

But she did know who did this; she did know how it was done and why - though she'd lied to Caldwell about all of it to the contrary. She swept her gaze across the parking lot, soaking up the devastating sight that the explosion had wrought. Zaddik killed Sumner because she'd gone to him for aid. Elizabeth wouldn't make that same mistake twice.

She rested briefly on the sight of Ronon. He was standing near a parked cop car; the flash of red and blue strobe lights streaking across his face as he grunted answers to Sgt. Bates. He wouldn't talk, she knew, just like she knew the forensic team combing the remains of Sumner's car wouldn't find any evidence of an explosive device. The only trace of the explosion was the stench of sulfur that refused to disperse; the trademark of black magic that Elizabeth was quickly coming to identify with one mage.

There was no turning back from this moment; no redeeming quality; no taking back what either of them had done. Elizabeth knew there would be no fairy tale ending to this feud now.

It would be his death, or hers.

\--x--

A little while later Elizabeth's cell phone rang. For a second, the effort to move and answer her phone seemed almost too much, but she excused herself from the paramedic attending to her and retreated a distance.

When she answered the phone, Zaddik's voice registered above the clamor of everything else. "Detective, I trust I have your full attention now."

Her ability to speak was robbed for a brief second, but when she recovered, her voice had gone so cold, so low, Elizabeth almost didn't recognize herself. "You've crossed a line, Zaddik," she breathed darkly. "You shouldn't have gone after my partner."

"You're the one that drew the battle lines," Zaddik argued tersely. "What have you told your colleagues?"

Her jaw clenched and she glanced around again, knowing the threat that inherently lay hidden behind the question. Caldwell was talking with a crime scene technician, and Ronon was still being interrogated. The latter looked up when he felt her scrutiny, and she didn't know what he saw in her eyes, but it was enough to make him stand up straighter and take notice. The entire parking lot was one big bull's-eye to Zaddik.

"Nothing," she answered stiffly. "This is between you and me. No one else has to get involved."

"I think your mate would disagree," Zaddik challenged.

"Let him go, Zaddik," Elizabeth demanded. "He's not the one you want. I am."

"Quite right," he agreed. "But tell me, how does it feel to lose things so close to your heart? Cuts you to your soul, doesn't it? To suffer the loss of something you love so dearly?"

She knew he was speaking more of Ellia than of Sumner, and she closed her eyes and willed composure. "What happened to Ellia was wrong, but it was accident. What you're doing now is—"

"Justice. Biblical justice, perhaps. But I am only punishing you the way you tortured me all these years."

She lifted her head, squinting at the rough outline of Sumner's blood splashed on the pavement. "Justice and vengeance are never the same thing, Zaddik. Never."

Zaddik's voice turned harsh, "We can philosophize in person, Detective. I want you to slip away from the crowd. Quiet, like. I want you to follow my commands to the letter. Find a car and drive away."

Elizabeth paused, but Zaddik had already proven how resourceful he could be, and more importantly, how merciless. After a brief moment of confliction, she realized she had no choice but to follow his orders. She shrugged off the blanket and let it fall to the ground, walking around the tail end of her sedan nearby. The driver's door was indented with the earlier impact – of Elizabeth slamming in to the side during the explosion.

Quietly, she slipped into the driver's seat without anyone noticing – such were the advantages of a busy crime scene; no one paid attention to you unless you were demanding it.

She keyed the ignition and pulled away slowly with her tires rolling against the gravel. Though she doubted any of her colleagues noticed her sudden absence, she felt acutely aware of Ronon's scrutiny as he watched her from across the parking lot. There was nothing he could do, though. Ronon was back in police custody, and any plans they'd formulated with her pack were shattered in the same last breath Sumner had taken.

Elizabeth was on her own now.

Over the next twenty minutes, Zaddik kept her on the phone as he guided her through the streets. His voice near her ear, whispering to her in that malicious tone of his, kept Elizabeth's eyes blazing and focused, hardened as they sought out her destination in front.

"Turn left here," Zaddik instructed. "This should seem familiar to you."

It became obvious where he was leading her.

Her destination was Zaddik's two story residence, except this time as Elizabeth pulled up to the curb, the quaint trappings of the quiet suburban house were overshadowed by what Elizabeth knew lay beyond the threshold of the front porch. She parked the car and just as she reached the balcony, her cell phone gave a little beep and Elizabeth glanced at the ID screen to find she had a call waiting.

… from Teyla.

The message threw Elizabeth's bearings entirely, but Zaddik was already demanding her attention again so Elizabeth had no choice but to ignore Teyla's flashing ID and pressed the phone back to her ear. The continued beeping went unanswered but Elizabeth was frantically caught up in the implications. Teyla wasn't kidnapped. She wasn't in Zaddik's clutches.

"Downstairs," Zaddik informed. "Go to the basement."

"How long have you been planning this?" Elizabeth asked, feet halted, unwilling to cross the threshold. "How long have you—"

"Years," he answered bluntly. "I've covered all angles of this, waiting for the right moment. You sped things along, though, with your little visit to my house yesterday."

Yesterday, she remembered. It seemed so very long ago.

As she pushed open the front oak door and watched it creak aside, the interior that greeted her was dark and quiet; not a soul inside. Elizabeth lingered in the hallway, glancing around, eyeing the photos hanging on the wall. Jennifer – Ellia, whatever name she went by – was pictured all through the ages. Elizabeth wondered what role Zaddik's daughter played in this: if she was an unwitting pawn, or a willing participant?

"Downstairs," Zaddik repeated impatiently. "But first, remove your gun and leave it behind."

Elizabeth barely held back profanity. Obediently, reluctantly, she unbuttoned her holster and removed the weapon, placing it on the table in the hallway. She glanced around, wondering if he was watching her, studying her as she followed his every command like a mindless zombie. Resentment choked at the back of her throat but she had little options.

She descended the steps and withdrew her keys again, triggering the small flashlight attached to it. The illumination was meager, but coupled with her enhanced eyesight, she realized there wasn't much to see in this dank corner of the house. The beam of light sliced through the shadows and she found the only thing of any real interest in the room was a large ornate mirror that stood in the center. There was a single, dangling light bulb above it.

"Touch the mirror," Zaddik informed.

"What?"

"The mirror," Zaddik said, then his voice twisted with dark amusement. "Touch the mirror and follow the white rabbit, Alice. That's the only way you'll see your precious mate again."

Before she could question further, Zaddik disconnected the phone and silence greeted her. She stared in bewilderment for a second before she cautiously stepped closer to the oblong mirror. It wasn't much to look at, just a simple glass with ornate symbols on the side. She glanced up and reached for the dangling light bulb, and when she pulled on the string she flinched as light flooded the dark room.

Her eyes had shifted and enhanced into yellow, but when she glanced up at the mirror, instead of finding her reflection, she found something else entirely. The glass mirrored nothing of the basement; nothing of her. Instead, the glossy surface exhibited something else… some type of damp cave?

Elizabeth stared in confusion. Trying to direct her beam of light into it, she found nothing affected the image in the slightest. The cavern was dark and mysterious, and the walls were covered with faint writing of some kind. She could make out a dark tunnel in the back, though where it led was as a mystery.

 _Touch the mirror._

Elizabeth stepped back instinctively, furiously debating her options. She couldn't do this. She couldn't blindly follow Zaddik's orders. This was stupid. This was suicidal. She was walking headfirst into a trap. What would happen when she touched this mirror? She had no way of knowing, but as she drew in a steadying breath, Elizabeth was suddenly reminded of Sumner's lifeless eyes and the splash of John's blood coating his room.

Nerves steeling, Elizabeth stepped forward and braced herself. "Here goes nothing."

She reached out and touched digits to the surface.

\--x--

She felt nothing, but everything changed.

One moment she was in the basement; the next in the cave. It took her second to realize the shift in reality as it had been imperceptible – as quick as an intake of breath. She was standing in the middle of the damp cave, rivulets of water running over her feet and down the slanted ground, disappearing into a small quiet pool behind her. She could smell salt and hear waves crashing in the distance, and her heart leapt into her throat, trying not to panic by this sudden shift in her environment.

It was a portal, she realized, tracking her beam of light across the dark cave.

A damn portal.

Elizabeth took a steadying breath and let the thick, damp air coat her lungs. There was a small winding tunnel in the back and Elizabeth had little choice but to follow it. She angled her small flashlight down the pathway and stepped lightly, twisting through the rough corridor. A few large chunks of rock littered her pathway, but Elizabeth deftly maneuvered until she came to fork in the road. One end had light streaming from it, so cautiously, slowly, she inched down the hallway and followed the light.

She emerged into another small cave, but this one was different. It had been converted into a cell, and on the other side of the bars was a familiar occupant.

"John!" she exclaimed in shock, rushing to the cage door. "Oh, God, hold on."

He didn't so much as flinch. Chained to the wall with shackles bound at his hands and feet, he looked battered and bleeding, and his head hung low. He remained unresponsive to her repeated calls. A moment of silence stretched and Elizabeth stilled, growing desperate as she studied his form, hunched over like that - like a broken doll. A fear grew in the pit of her stomach.

"John," she breathed roughly, desperately, "Answer me, John."

A second ticked by. Then, two. Finally, blessedly, a grunt escaped John's lips and he lifted his head slowly. "Hey," he mumbled in a low voice. "Fancy meeting you here."

She nearly choked on the relief. She found his left eye swollen and black, and his lower lip busted open, but he was alive and breathing and Elizabeth would take what she could get. Quickly working now with renewed motivation, she rattled the cage. The bars created an obstacle for her to bypass, but there were old and rusting, and Elizabeth had werewolf strength in her arms. She drew as much strength as she could into her arms and tried to wrench the door open.

She couldn't even make them budge. Despite the fact that the metal was old and weak, certainly not like the steel-reinforced cage she housed in her own basement, the metal didn't yield under her touch.

It took her a second or two to realize the metal wasn't the problem.

"Your werewolf strength," John whispered knowingly. "It doesn't work here, this place… wherever it is, whatever the hell it is. We can't transform at all."

She stared at him for a second, at a loss for words before she tried again with renewed vigor. Violently, she struggled with the bars but it was futile. John was right; her paranormal strength had been sapped. Desperately, she connected with John's gaze and saw a weakness in it that stole her breath. Without his advanced healing abilities, John must have been suffering like hell with those wounds.

She glanced away, refocusing. "Okay, okay. I'll get you out another way."

And then it came to her: something that she would have thought of immediately back in the days where she was just a rookie cop. She dropped to her knees and studied the padlock, finding it a basic cylinder one – the simplest kind. Quickly, she pulled a pin loose from her hair, studying the lock for another second before she broke the pin in two and inserted it into the hole.

"You know how to pick a lock?" John murmured in surprise.

"I learned it the first year on the job," Elizabeth explained mindlessly. "Sumner taught me."

She immediately faltered, suddenly reminded of her partner and his fate. Long enough for John to notice. "Something wrong?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. "No, nothing," she quietly lied. "I'm just out of practice."

A tide of guilt swept up from her stomach so fast that she found it difficult to swallow. But John didn't need to know about Sumner, at least not yet. It wasn't necessary to bog him down with the news.

She refused to think about the real motive she had behind holding that information from him. If she told John about Sumner's death, it would hit too close to home. She was functioning on exhaust fumes and denial right now, and admitting the truth to John would be accepting that Sumner was _really_ dead and gone. Elizabeth wasn't sure she could handle that right now; wasn't nearly prepared to accept anything. Denial was a better course of action, at least until they got out of here.

Though her skills were rusty – and she could perfectly imagine Sumner taunting her about how _goddamned long_ she was taking – she finally managed to disengage the cylinder lock. The door swung open on its rusty hinges and she climbed to her feet quickly.

John smirked in appreciation and glanced sideways at his chained wrists, tugging a little. "Can you do that with my chains?" She stopped before him, taking a moment to examine up close and what she found made her feel ill. "I'm fine," he insisted, obviously lying. "It looks worse than it is."

She clamped her mouth shut, and quietly worked on releasing him from the chains the same way she picked the lock. A few moments later, John's limp body crumpled onto hers, shockingly weak. Elizabeth cursed silently, wedged her shoulder more firmly under John's arm, and tugged his wrist down.

He immediately barked a grisly scream into her ear. "Ah, fuck," he cursed, going pale. "My shoulder's dislocated."

She winced and released his wrist. Murmuring mindless words of comfort, she eased him down onto the ground gently. He collapsed heavily, and the sight of him as weak and abused as a beaten dog made her throat constrict. She glanced aside, realizing she'd have to pop his shoulder back into place.

"I'm sorry, John."

"This isn't your fault, Elizabeth."

It was. They both knew it.

She forced herself to meet his gaze. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like hell and probably felt worse. But she'd spent the last few hours caught up in a whirlwind of emotions, and she'd feared the worst for John. Finding him alive, even battered and bruised, left her flooded with relief and a touch of euphoria.

She wasn't thinking in the slightest when she bent her head, pressing her lips to his.

The kiss caught him entirely off-guard, still as a statue at first. She coaxed his lips apart with her tongue, and then it was no more than a beat before he was responding. His lips tasted like blood and ash, but Elizabeth didn't care. Her hand splayed against his cheek, tongue exploring the familiar territory slowly. This wasn't a question of right and wrong anymore; this was right. When she pulled back, they were slightly breathless and John just stared at her.

"Hey," he eventually whispered. "I really am all right."

He licked his lips, staring at her with a look on his face that she'd never imagined could be so uncertain. Elizabeth _hated_ that she'd made him so insecure over the years.

"I'm sorry, John."

His eyes darkened. "For kissing me?"

"No, for this."

She yanked his arm back without warning. He screamed, the harsh bark making her eyes slam shut as his shoulder popped back into place. His breathing was harsh and ragged for a moment or two, before he glanced back at her.

"Don't take this the wrong way," he said with a frown, "but there's a distinct pattern emerging where kissing you always leads to me in pain."

Somebody else interrupted them before Elizabeth could muster a response. "Well, isn't this cozy?"

Her head shot up as they whirled around, and she found Zaddik sneering at them from the entrance with two muscular men flanking him on either side. Jennifer Keller was in the back of the crowd, head hung low as she shyly hid behind one of the larger men. Zaddik nodded his head at one of the guards; a bald man with a strange golden tattoo on his forehead, and the man withdrew an equally odd-looking gun.

"If you'll come with me," Zaddik asked in a falsely sweet voice. "I think this has waited long enough."

\--x--

"You know," John spoke softly, restrained in a chair on the opposite side of the laboratory. "I'm really hoping the cavalry is coming any second now. Please tell you brought a cavalry and they're just delayed by traffic?"

Elizabeth repressed a sigh, and tugged heavily at the ropes that bound her to her own chair. But she knew without much exertion that any struggles would be futile. Without her werewolf strength, in this strange place, outnumbered and outgunned… Elizabeth silently admitted it: things could have been going better.

"I had a plan all laid out," Elizabeth protested, a little weakly. "A good one, too. It just… it just encountered some problems."

"Like what?"

She was saved from answering when Zaddik reentered through the side entrance. Jennifer was once again trailing after him, as unobtrusive as a mouse, and two guards brought up the rear; one small and compact, and the other all muscles. They positioned themselves on opposite ends but Elizabeth was entirely too preoccupied with studying the strange matching golden tattoos on the guard's foreheads.

John eyed them as well. "I always thought gold teeth didn't go far enough," he offered with a decisive nod. "Golden forehead tattoos, now _that's_ where the new bling is."

Zaddik released a long suffering sigh. "I see your annoying sense of humor remains intake, Mr. Sheppard. I was hoping we had beaten that out of you already."

John merely shrugged the comment off.

Zaddik offered a slim smile. "They're called Jaffa, Mr. Sheppard. And I wouldn't insult them if I were you. I may have trained them to follow my commands, but they have no reason not to harm others. Ford eventually learned that lesson well."

The reaction to Ford's name was immediate: John violently shook against his restraints and started lobbying profanity at him, clearly goaded easily. Zaddik smirked a little and then nodded towards one of the guards, and the tattooed man stepped forward to gag John's mouth with a dirty cloth.

"Ah," Zaddik murmured in appreciation. "Now we don't have to deal with any more of you clever wit, Mr. Sheppard."

Elizabeth spoke up, "What do you want with us? Where are we?"

"This place?" Zaddik offered, waving a hand around the cavern. "Consider it my… home away from home. I find it convenient to do my research away from prying eyes."

"Your research?"

Zaddik smiled. "What do you think you're here for? I needed new tests subjects."

Elizabeth stared in disgust. "For what?"

"For what?" He twisted to face her, the sneer clearly visible in the shine of florescent lighting above. "For my daughter, you fool. Because some worthless slut of a werewolf killed her years ago and I've spent every waking second since then trying to bring her back to full life—"

"Father," Jennifer drew his attention, and shook her head marginally.

But Elizabeth stared in confusion, scrutinizing Jennifer, before she looked to Zaddik again. "She looks plenty alive to me."

Zaddik could barely contain his anger. "Looks can be deceiving. She is but a shadow of what she was before." He turned to a worktable in the corner and rummaged through the drawers for a second. "This is why it is so appropriate that I use you for the final tests. I am trials away from completing my work and restoring Ellia back to the way she was before."

The pieces snapped into place, and Elizabeth finally made the connections between all the threads that had been weaving through Atlantis these last few weeks. The vampire blood market and the presence of the new mage, they were all tied to only one motive – Jennifer Keller. She was probably resurrected and being disguised by the same glamours and temporary spells that most Necromancers used. There were ineffectual in the long run, though, as they merely covered up death with illusions. But vampires? Vampires functioned on a whole other level, even nicknamed appropriately – the living dead.

If Zaddik could figure out the fundamentals on what allowed vampires to walk the Earth in dead flesh, he'd be a step closer to cheating life than any other mage in the world. Even Teyla, nearly two centuries old, didn't comprehend the mysterious behind a vampire's "eternal" life.

Zaddik finally emerged from the drawers with the item he sought – a syringe filled with a clear liquid. "You see," he murmured softly, "this augmented enzyme is unlike anything else. Its' properties restore and enhance at miraculous speeds. I've been conducting research for years, but it wasn't until recently that I realized that the reason my tests were failing to succeed completely was not because of the enzyme." He stopped, and turned around to face them. "But because of my subjects. I was using humans before, and other baseline paranormals. And all along, I needed the likes of you."

Biting down on her anger, she took a deep breath and concentrated on getting the facts. "Likes of me?"

"Werewolves," Jennifer explained with her eyes averted. "We're experimenting with your physiology because it seems the most compatible with vampires. It changed the direction of our research entirely."

John jerked against his restraints with rage.

But Elizabeth merely eyed the nineteen-year-old girl with surprise. "Your research?"

Zaddik tipped his head towards Jennifer and smiled with paternal pride. "She's a savant in the sciences. An intellect that may even surpass my own."

Jennifer briefly lifted her head to met Elizabeth's gaze. "I'm happy to help, Father," she spoke softly, but her eyes said something else entirely: guilt-stricken and shamed, filled with obvious pain. They clearly asked forgiveness of Elizabeth even as she stepped aside and let Zaddik advance on them with the syringe.

Zaddik stepped up to John first, and he growled, straining again at his restraints. "You'll grow to like this, Sheppard. It has interesting side-effects." Zaddik turned briefly to the guards. "Make sure you have the zat guns on standby."

"Wait, Zaddik," Elizabeth protested. "You don't have to do this. You can—"

"Quiet, Detective," Zaddik snapped, "No measure of begging will deny me the satisfaction I gain from this. I've waited years for this moment." He jabbed the needle-point into John's arm with a sharp force, and John flinched as he depressed the plunger. "Years, watching you, knowing you were the killer behind my daughter's death. And then you actually had the nerve to come into my house. Question my daught—"

"Father," Jennifer cut in. "Calm down."

But Elizabeth wasn't paying attention to the mindless tirade; her eyes were too focused on John. The gag in his mouth prevented him from speaking, but the muscles and tendons in his neck strained with tension as the enzyme worked through his body.

"John?" she exhaled in concern.

Then something strange happened; something unexpected. John's blackened eye started to heal, and the cut on his lips vanished right before her eyes. She watched, amazed, as the wounds he had suffered by Zaddik's mistreatment were quickly mended in a handful of seconds.

Appearing satisfied by what he saw, Zaddik lifted his chin and smiled to Jennifer. "You see?" he breathed excitedly. "It's working. He's healing faster than any of the previous subjects."

But it did more than just heal.

It almost didn't register, so smooth and fast - inhumanly fast. The bindings of rope broke loose as John wrenched himself free and his palm snapped up, connecting with Zaddik's nose. Blood erupted everywhere and Jennifer recoiled with a scream. John's face warped with a rage that almost made him unrecognizable, even to Elizabeth, and he was up and attacking in a blind second.

The closest guard, the small one, rushed with a stunner drawn, but John reacted quicker, seizing a wrist; misdirecting the gun. The nuzzle ended up facing Elizabeth's direction just as the startled guard fired. Elizabeth screamed and ducked her head, and the blast hit the cavern wall behind her. John twisted the guard's elbow then knocked the gun loose. John jabbed a hand outward that crushed his opponent's windpipe, killing a scream as the guard fell to the ground.

Zaddik attempted to climb to his feet as John whirled his attention towards him. Jennifer rushed to her father's side with a helping hand, struggling to pull him away from John quickly.

"Please, no," Jennifer pleaded. "Don't hurt him!"

Except Elizabeth glanced to John and saw an unrecognizable mask of rage on his face. The drug, she realized.

A guard tackled John from the side.

This guy was all muscle and raw power. He was older, mostly balding, but he carried himself with command as he pinned John to the ground. They crumbled to the floor and the guard wrapped an arm around John's throat, binding him from behind in a choke hold. John grunted and then drove his captor back with a head butt that connected with his jaw. Then repeated it with another one. The guard staggered back and fell to the ground.

"Wait!" A scream erupted, and Elizabeth twisted, shocked, to find Jennifer behind her with a stunner. It shook in her hands as she aimed at John. "This is a special type of gun. It takes two shots to kill."

"Shoot him!" Zaddik insisted harshly, cradling his gushing nose with one hand. "What are you waiting for? Kill him!"

John wasn't thinking rationally though; he couldn't have been. He advanced and Jennifer fired, but he dodged and the blue ray flared by him. Elizabeth reacted blindly, lifting the chair and peddling it backwards into Jennifer. She slammed into the smaller girl and the stunner went flying in the air. Elizabeth ended up in a pile on the floor, and for a few seconds, she didn't know what was happening on the other side of the room. There was a crash and a grunt, and John's scream echoed across the cavern walls. Elizabeth lifted her head and tried to pull free from her bindings.

But Zaddik was pointing the weapon at her.

Before she had time to react, Zaddik pulled the trigger and a pulsing energy worked through her body. She crumpled to the floor in utter blackness.

\--x--

The sensations of pins and needles prickling her body worked across every inch of her skin as Elizabeth slowly regained consciousness. She blinked, her vision ebbing and blurring in protests, and found her face planted on the dirt floor. She groaned, and shifted, glancing around to discover she was back in a cage – though this one seemed to be different than the one before. There was a cot nearby and bathroom facilities in one corner. Elizabeth caught one end of the mattress and attempted to pull herself upright.

Somebody behind her whistled to draw her attention.

She jerked around to find another person chained to the far wall, resting on the ground with his legs stretched out before him. As much as she would have preferred it, it wasn't John. In fact, this individual had his face obscured by a veil of unkempt hair. Elizabeth slowly climbed to her feet and stood, stepping to the side a few inches to get a better view of her scruffy-looking company.

"Don't tell me," the man said lightly, head hung low, "but I look like hell?"

He wasn't wrong. He'd obviously been here for some time, because his clothes were tattered, dirty, and his hair had grown months too long. She couldn't get a clear look at his face, but what she saw of his body was all skin and bones. One of his arm shackles were broken, which gave him some limited maneuverability but he was still chained to the wall like a dog.

Despite all that when he finally lifted his head, he brought his gaze to hers and held it. Elizabeth was surprised by his classically handsome features. A chiseled jaw. Sharp blue eyes.

"You're a werewolf, aren't you?" he mused curiously. "One of Ford's kin?"

"Have you seen others here?" she asked. "There's a man named John. He's tall. Messy hair? Do you know where he is—"

He shook his head before she could finish. "Look, they just dragged you in here to keep me company. If this guy's a werewolf too, then Zaddik's probably still getting his rocks off with him."

Elizabeth flinched and turned towards the cell door. Though she knew it was useless, she gripped the bars and tested the strength, shaking it violently. This wasn't like the old cage at all. It was reinforced-steel, so even if she'd been at full strength, Elizabeth wouldn't have been able to do anything to it. When she next dropped down and examined the lock, she found it to be impossible to jimmy.

She'd been upgraded to a better prison cell. "Fantastic," she cursed.

"Don't worry," the man offered, "I'm sure they're gonna be done with your boy soon. And in case you haven't noticed, werewolves feel better after the treatments. Vampires feel worse."

She whirled around to realize the obvious. "You're a vampire."

"Wow," he remarked with a smirk. "You must be a detective."

She let the sarcastic remark slide without comment. "How long have you been here?"

"Months?" he shrugged. "Years? Don't know. You lose track of time after a while. What's your name?"

She studied him for a moment, and though she was distrustful by nature because he was a vampire, she couldn't sense any threat from him. Not when he was weak and shackled; so very obviously abused. A part of Elizabeth even felt pity for him.

"Elizabeth Weir," she finally offered.

The man smiled and tipped his head in greeting. "Cameron Mitchell."

\--x--

She found out Cameron's story quickly, as apparently the man was in desperate need of a good conversation. Cameron was from Cheyenne, and he'd been kidnapped by Chaya sometime last year and brought to Zaddik for his experiments. Despite the fact that he'd been tortured and imprisoned for so long, Elizabeth could tell Cameron's sense of humor was intact. Whether his sanity and spirit were as whole, however, was another matter entirely.

"Anyway," Cameron winded up his story, "That was when Ford started doing all of Zaddik's dirty work. They called him the right hand man. I liked to call him the snotty nosed brat."

"But Zaddik killed Aiden?" Elizabeth argued pointedly.

Cameron snorted. "Not likely. Why would Zaddik kill his best henchmen? Ford really hated us."

"Us?"

"There used to be more vampires," he explained with a shrug. "I'm the last one now. Zaddik's killed all the others through starvation."

"Starvation?" she repeated in bewilderment. "I thought vampires couldn't die that way?"

He turned his attention back toward the bars. He was quiet for a moment before speaking. "A couple of months, and anything that hasn't been fed will die. Even vampires."

"How long has it been since you were fed?"

Cameron flashed a humorless smile, eyes hollow and dark. "A couple of months. Like I said, you lose track of time here."

That subtle current of pity in Elizabeth turned into a sharp sting, and she averted her eyes, feeling a swell of revulsion rise in her throat. She knew, logically, that this man was no better than a parasite in many ways - feeding off human blood. Elizabeth had always tried to overcome her instinctual prejudice against vampires, but in the back of her head, there was a voice that had silently wished ill against all vampires. They didn't deserve life, and neither did humans deserve to be turned into food. Perhaps that was the real reason she'd never really gotten along with Michael. He wasn't the one that was shadowy and furtive – it was Elizabeth's inclinations towards him that were a touch darker.

But with Cameron, this was… this was different, somehow. This was wrong and ugly, and Elizabeth didn't like staring into a starving man's eyes no matter his baser nature. She didn't care if he was a vampire; no creature deserved to be tortured like that. It was inhumane and malicious.

"Where is _here_?" she refocused. "What is this place?"

"You touch the mirror on the way in?" Cameron prompted, his voice echoing in the small compartment. "Meet with the Jaffa and feel the differences in this place? Shouldn't you have guessed it by now?"

"The mirror transported me to somewhere else?"

"Not just somewhere else," Cameron argued. "An alternate reality, and just in case that wasn't screwy enough, we're on an alien planet to boot."

She frowned and shook her head. "No, that's not possible."

"I've been here for months. I know everything there is to know about this place, and it ain't Earth. Earth doesn't have two moons, for one thing." She paused, but there were no windows to confirm or deny the claim. He flashed a smirk. "We're not in Kansas anymore, Lizzie. Welcome to the Oz."

Hours passed as he told her everything he knew. Elizabeth settled onto the flimsy mattress with her legs drawn up to her chest, feeling drained just listening to it all unfold. The more she thought about it, the more disturbed she grew. If what Cameron was telling her was the truth, then she couldn't expect anyone to find her. Not her pack. Not Teyla. Not her friends in the PD. They wouldn't know where to look, what to search for, and Zaddik would get away with all of this.

It was frustrating and hopeless, but the worst was not knowing what had happened to John. Was he somewhere nearby, being tested and tortured, tainted with that damn enzyme?

Needing movement, Elizabeth stood to pace – back and forth, back and forth, across the expanse of the small cage. Cameron watched her silently, as his eyes had never stopped following her since the moment she awoke. He inspired a sharp blend of pity and concern, but Elizabeth still knew better than to go anywhere near him – he was a starving vampire, and to him, Elizabeth probably looked like a Happy Meal on legs.

She wondered how long it'd been since he'd even had any company.

She stopped short, glancing down at him. "Why did they put me in here with you?"

"What?"

"When was the last time you saw someone besides the guards or Zaddik?"

He raked a hand through his hair and exhaled heavily. "Been a while since I've had company. A few months?"

"Why put me in here with you, then?

"Pretty up the place?" Cameron offered lightly with a flirtatious smirk. When she crossed her arms over her chest, he simply tugged against his restraints. "Seriously, Liz, as crappy as it is, this cage is the best cell in the place. The other ones are broken and weak. I suppose it's a compliment in its own way?"

She sighed heavily. "Yeah, I guess. And don't call me Liz."

"How about Lizzie?"

She glared, but when she opened her mouth to fling a retort, a sudden throbbing sensation worked through her temple. It was dull at first but quickly building. Elizabeth flinched and dropped her head into her hands, but the pain only intensified. Blindingly so.

"Elizabeth?" Cameron called in concern.

She couldn't answer him; suddenly couldn't breathe. The pain was too much. She dropped to the floor and whimpered as the anguish intensified. It felt like someone was assaulting her mind - invading it by prying it open like a damn crowbar on doors. She sobbed incoherently, but a part of her was still lucid enough to resist. Zaddik, she suspected. She wasn't going to let the bastard in! Her vision darkened and threatened to fade into black.

 _Elizabeth,_ a garbled voice called to her. _Elizabeth, don't—_

She collapsed into a pile near Cameron's feet.

\--x--

For the second time in so many hours, Elizabeth awoke with the distinct feeling that her skull was going to explode. It took her a second for her vision to clear, but when she groaned and focused on her surroundings, she found Cameron looking down at her. Her head was cradled in his lap.

It took her a second to remember why that could be a dangerous thing.

She jerked away from him, adrenaline kicking in, making her pulse leap erratically as she scrambled to her feet. She put as much distance between them as possible. It wasn't that she didn't trust Cameron – okay, maybe it was. But he was a starving vampire and she was food and—

"I didn't hurt you," Cameron said, hands raised in surrender. "You're all right. You're fine… Well, not _fine_ because you had that freaky screaming fest, but I didn't hurt you."

She paused, and her hand fell to her chest and moved over her neck, inspecting. Surprised after a moment, she realized he was telling the truth. She'd been unconscious in his arms, and he hadn't taken advantage of her. She couldn't think of many starving vampires that would show such restraint.

In fact, she had always assumed that there were no such vampires.

"Oh," she breathed in relief, and with it came a flood of shame. "Okay."

Cameron's gaze never wavered. "I've never taken anyone by force. I'm not like that."

Elizabeth nodded numbly, unsure of how to respond. She glanced away, heart still pounding in her chest as adrenaline and fear eased off. In the silent wake, she thought back to the assault – the mental assault – that had sent her fainting at Cameron's feet.

"What was that?"

"Your screaming-fest back there? I thought you could tell me. I've never seen that happen before."

"Was it Zaddik?"

Cameron paused. "I don't think so. The son of a bitch likes to watch when he causes his victims pain."

Elizabeth fell into silence, unsure of what to do or think. She felt overwhelmed and out of her element. And damn it, she still had no idea what the hell they were doing to John! Choking on frustration, Elizabeth climbed to her feet and walked up to the cage door. She wrapped her fingers around the cool metal and rattled against the bars angrily, knowing it was futile but she needed to expel her energy somehow.

"Take a deep breath," Cameron advised. "It gets claustrophobic in here, I know. But you gotta stay cool."

Elizabeth turned back to him. "Is that how you managed to survive for so long?"

Cameron grinned darkly, twisted humor in his eyes. "Hell, no. I've gone mental more times than I can count. I hate being locked up and starving like this."

Elizabeth stared at him for a long moment, and then observed, "And yet… you didn't feed off of me?"

Cameron held her gaze for a second, his eyes softening – suddenly too human. "I told you, I've never taken anyone by force and I never will."

And the funny thing was Elizabeth believed him. She was living proof of it now.

Compassion had always been a part of what made Elizabeth such a good cop. Most of the time Elizabeth was decidedly proud of that trait, but there were times when it made her act with her heart instead of her head; made her act blindly even. Standing there, staring at a starving vampire who showed more honor than most men, she realized this was one of those moments. Whoever this man was, whatever he was – he was still a human being. Someone who was being tortured and marked by it.

She had to do something to help.

She stepped forward slowly and drew a labored breath. "Okay."

He nodded slowly. "Okay what?"

"I can…" she explained, heart pounding as she walked closer to him. "I can… help, a little. With your hunger."

Her eyes rested briefly on his, watching the shock and hope register on his face before she had to look away again. She wasn't worried about the pain. A long time ago when she'd first been bitten, her pain sensors had altered entirely. But as she took the last step towards him and crouched down, internally Elizabeth was calling herself a thousand foolish names. She was willingly feeding herself to a vampire, for Pete's sakes. This was… beyond irrational.

"You don't have to do this," Cameron suggested softly. "I might not be able to stop myself once I start."

"I'll stop you," Elizabeth assured, with a touch of dark humor in her voice. "Trust me, I will."

Cameron hesitated, watching her, but his eyes flashed brightly with hunger and desire, and Elizabeth knew there was no turning back now. It'd be cruel to dangle this prospect in front of him and then snatch it away. She clenched her jaw and tried to steady her heartbeat, gingerly holding her arm to him. Cameron hesitated for just one moment, then softly, slowly, he sunk his teeth into her forearm and suckled.

She winced instinctively, but the truth was that biting, for her, had stopped being about pain a long time ago. She immediately had a flashback to all the times John had marked her like this, claimed her body with a visible signal to others that she was _his_. Her body flooded with heat, reminded of the sensations and she glanced away from Cameron's face and studied the wall instead; guilt swelling.

This wasn't about sex, though. It wasn't about desire or claims. It was simply about saving a man's life.

Moments that could have been hours passed, and when Elizabeth finally tugged herself free, Cameron was gasping, his pale cheeks flooding with color; with life. He looked up at her with such naked awe that Elizabeth was unable to stare at it for long before she glanced away. She stepped away quickly and tore off a piece of her shirt, tying it around the bite mark to secure a makeshift bandage.

"Jesus," Cameron breathed, so softly Elizabeth almost missed it. "I had forgotten what it's like to..." He glanced up at her. "I don't know how to—"

"Don't mention it," she stopped him, eyes averted.

 _Especially to John_.

\--x--

Elizabeth curled up on the cot shortly thereafter, feeling drained and exhausted. It hadn't even been her intention to fall asleep, but one moment she was simply resting her eyes and the next a voice was calling for her to wake up. It took a second to realize the voice was a familiar one.

She blinked groggily, then paused. "John?"

"Hey," he greeted with a crocked smile, and he was crouching down besides her mattress. "I'm back."

Instinctively she bolted from the bed and wrapped her arms around him, relief flooding her to find him whole and alive. In fact, he looked no worse for wear than the last time she'd seen him. After spending the last few hours with no word, Elizabeth had convinced herself of a dozen different nightmare scenarios.

"God, what happened to you?"

"They gave me more happy drugs."

She pulled back and studied him. "Are you okay? How do you feel?"

He shrugged. "Fine – no, better than fine. I feel good."

Elizabeth slanted him a dubious look. "Good?"

He sighed heavily and glanced away, plunging a hand through his hair as he hesitated. "I can't explain it. I know what it sounds like, Elizabeth, but I don't feel any different. It's like being on codeine or something. A high, but not the screwy type."

"A high?" she repeated in a neutral tone.

He read her skepticism clearly. "Trust me, I'm fine."

After a brief pause she decided there was no point in arguing with him. She was still too relieved to find him whole and unscathed. It was perhaps for this reason that it took her so long to realize the conspicuous absence from the cell.

She shot up to her feet. "Where's Cameron?"

John rose next to her, frowning. "The vamp chained in the corner? The guards took him when they left me here. By the way, falling asleep while there's a ravenous vampire tied up not far from you? Probably not the best idea."

If John only knew… she shook her head quickly to dispel the thought, and readjusted the bindings on her arm. "How are we going to get out of here, John?"

"We'll figure out a way. I've been studying the tunnels in here, but it's like a damn maze."

"You know where we are, right? What this place is?"

He looked at her blankly, so she explained. Told John exactly what Cameron told her – about the alternate realities, the alien planet, the guards called Jaffa with _things_ in their stomachs. Everything Cameron had passed onto her. Elizabeth dropped down on the cot, bracing her back against the wall, and John joined her in stunned silence.

"Alternate realities?" he questioned after a moment.

Elizabeth nodded, then dropped her head into her hands as she took a breath. The nap hadn't done her much good. Her body had sluggish responses, a side-effect of too little sleep and too much tension. Not to mention being stunned, almost mind-raped and then bitten as well. Bad day. Bad, bad day.

John was silent for a moment. "Hey, you okay?"

She murmured back an incoherent response that could have been taken in the affirmative.

She felt John's heavy hand settle on the back of her neck. He burrowed lazy fingers into the silky strands at the base of her skull, and the soft touch _did_ things to her. When Elizabeth felt his fingers brush aside her hair and started massaging the kinks out of her muscles, she released a soft exhale.

"We'll make it through this," John assured warmly, so close-by, and Elizabeth's eyes squeezed shut, fighting off a rush of goose bumps. "We'll—"

She slowly disentangled herself, pulling free. Elizabeth knew where any sort of physical contact would lead; they'd been dancing this dance now for weeks - hell, _years_. But now wasn't the time, and especially not here. With her back to him, she felt more than heard John's heavy frustrated sigh.

She refocused on other details. "Your reflexes, they were impressive back there. Can you still move like that?"

John stayed silent for a moment too long, and when he finally broke it, there was a dark undertone to his words. "Why do I smell your blood?"

Elizabeth's head snapped over. "What?"

"Your blood," he repeated with brows burrowed, eyes growing dark. "I can smell it in the air."

She opened and closed her mouth for a second, then shook her head. "Nothing, it was just a cut." She turned away again and attempted to redirect the conversation. "Were you studying the tunnels on your way in? Can you guide us back through the—"

Strong fingers wrapped around her forearm and whirled her around. Before she could react, he yanked the bindings loose and discovered the teeth marks on her skin. For a moment, Elizabeth watched his face grow dark.

"He bit you," John surmised, his eyes never wavering from the bite mark.

The warning in his voice was harsh and possessive, and she tried to ward that off. "He'd gone months without food," she argued softly, swallowing back the taste of the familiar musk rising in the air. "He didn't attack. I offered. Don't make this into a big deal, John."

His eyes snapped up to meet hers - hard and intent, almost furious. "Don't make it into a big deal?"

"Yes," she insisted. She wrenched her arm free and retreated a step, but there wasn't much space left in their little cage. "We need to focus on getting out of here, John. Don't get distracted."

"I'm not," he argued heatedly.

But she knew that tone, knew it intimately. She scrubbed a hand through her hair, turning away to face the bars. It didn't take a genius to figure out that the enzyme in his system was clouding his judgment, but she'd be lying if she said other things weren't playing a factor either. Irrational jealousy.

"We just," she tried, taking a steadying breath, "We just have to stay focused here."

The scent of her mate flooded her senses. John was never easily deterred, and he knew her weak spots better than anyone. He pressed closer, and when his fingers brushed aside her hair again, she couldn't command a single thought.

"You let a vampire feed off of you," he breathed darkly, "but you flinch every time I touch you. Why is that?"

She couldn't respond. When his mouth followed, hot on the nape of her neck, there was a slight scrape of bristle along with warm lips and a hint of teeth. She damn-near whimpered out loud, and her knuckles turned white with strain as they curled viciously around the bars. Her head dipped forward, resting against the cool bars. Her body flooded with longing - _aching_ for that piece of her that had been missing for the last two years. His breath tickled her ear and he moved, his teeth scraping lightly against the ridge of her collarbone.

She kept her gaze trained on the walls. "Not here. Not now." she protested but her voice trembled and hitched when his other hand snuck under her shirt, fingers splayed against the pale flesh of her stomach. He toyed with the elastic band of her panties, and Elizabeth stood frozen, paralyzed by conflict. "John, the enzyme—"

"Shut up about the enzyme," John whispered, pressing her against the bars. He was already growing hard against her backside. "You're using that as another excuse to run away from me, Elizabeth."

"This isn't..." she trailed off, unable to even formulate one valid response to that.

John took a firm hold of her hips and slowly turned her around, pushing her back against the bars. "Why do you alway run?"

She shook her head but as much as she tried to deny it, through the thick haze she wondered if maybe he was right? She always had an excuse to stay away from him – it was the wrong time, the wrong place, they were two different people from who they were _before_. Over the years Elizabeth had thought up of every excuse in the book, and she was just so damn tired of that; of running, when she clearly only wanted one thing: him.

Slowly, she was moving forward without thought. Seizing his lips with hers, seeking admittance with a scrap of teeth and John yielded, mouth opening, tongues tangling, mating, the taste of him filling her senses entirely. Her head swam with desire that could no longer be held back. Instant, blinding, shockingly erotic, Elizabeth was pulled under the current.

For endless moments, years of pent-up frustrations found a release and it amazed her how easily this man worked her over the edge. One kiss fused into a second, melted into a third, breathed life into fourth until they were clawing at each other desperately.

She had to bite back a moan when he slid all the way down her body until he was on his knees before her. There was no hesitation, no uncertainty, no permission sought before John began undoing her belt buckle. For him familiarity bred courage, but Elizabeth was still too thrown to do anything but watch. He unzipped her fly and stripped down her pants impatiently with a hard tug. He fisted the thin material of her underwear around his knuckles and dragged it down before he let out a sound that was disturbingly dark, entirely possessive.

There was no teasing involved, no kissing or stimulation - when he cupped her, holding her open, his tongue licked right across her clitoris and Elizabeth screamed. The pleasure was instantly, blindingly hard. Then he was moving his tongue in a circular motion, over and over again, penetrating, swirling and suckling. She couldn't stop the small noises from being ripped from her throat, nor the desperate bucking of her hips against the hot suction of his mouth. She pressed herself against the cage, fingers wrapped around cool metal, and the pleasure stole more from her than gave relief, leaving her sobbing.

"Shh," he hummed in a low voice in between laps. "It's coming, it's coming."

Elizabeth's body pushed up, needing more contact, needing John closer as she started to come. The release welled up and then tore through her like something possessed; her body trembling with the aftershocks while John held her upright with hands on her hips. He rose, cursing in the same breath, wiping his chin and then crushed his lips back to hers. His beard scraped her skin as he moved from her mouth to her neck, ruthless in his use of tongue and teeth.

He groaned against her mouth and shoved her back against the bars, and Elizabeth just dragged him with her, closer, hands sliding down his chest, raking over the ripples of fabric caught under her fingernails. If they'd been at full werewolf strength, their bodies may have even changed, altered, enhanced. As it was, the mate within was already in control so it didn't matter that their bodies reflected none of the animalistic desperation inside.

"Tastes so good," he breathed against her, hands on either side of her curled around the bars, pinning her in between. "Missed that. Feels so…"

He grunted something else she couldn't understand before reaching for her again, burrowing his face into the crevice of her neck, mindlessly inhaling her scent. He shifted down, bunching her shirt up to place open-mouthed kisses down her sternum and along her bellybutton like he couldn't get enough of her skin. His hands yanked at her clothes, shirt tugged over her head, bra snagged free of her body before his mouth claimed her breasts one at a time, mouthing them with a flick of his tongue that buckled her knees.

She bit back a moan, and forced words passed lips swollen. "What do you want?" she breathed, letting him have free reign over her body, offering him his choice. Desperately needing to reciprocate all he had done for her somehow. Not just the climax, but _everything_. "Tell me, John. What do you want?"

Even though the cot rested a few feet away, she knew neither of them wanted to retreat to it. John pulled away to take off his shirt, and even though she could seek out his skin now, trace the contours of his chest, Elizabeth hated the brief stab of distance. She no longer cared about breathing; the only thing she wanted was John's weight pressing into her. She couldn't think; couldn't breathe; but there was a familiarity even in their desperation. After all these years, John was still the only one that knew her, all sides, all versions.

"Behind," he whispered against her neck, desperately, seeking permission even though she was the one who asked. "From behind."

She consented with an approving hum, because she wanted that too; one of their favorites. He flipped her around, urging her against the bars with his chest pressed alongside her back. He spread her legs further apart, and she could hear him unbuckle his belt and then when the pants dropped, he finally rocked his body into hers and Elizabeth released a gasp. His breath was heavy and ragged in her ear, already on the edge of control, but he steadied her around her hips as he worked against her backside, thrusting slowly at first as they found a rhythm.

"Do it," she pleaded in a rough voice, knowing where he was headed. "Do it, John. Please."

But he didn't bite her – not even when she begged for it. He didn't pick up the pace when she pleaded. He didn't give in and fuck her hard when she thought that's what they both desperately craved. She felt like she was almost being toyed with, but that was just John being John. He never went the obvious route – especially not when they were like this.

Instead, John planted a hand against one of the bars for support, breathing heavily against the curls of her hair; inhaling her scent; nuzzling her neck. He whispered dark confessions into her ear – things that drove her wild, making her curse herself for all the years she'd been separated from him. John's thrusts grew unsteady as he leaned over and mouthed kisses along the curve of her back; tracing the lines of her body with calloused fingers before digging into her hips bruisingly. The rhythm finally picked up only after he whispered three intimate words into her ear.

Then, he took her hard. Elizabeth added to the friction by grinding her hips back against him. She released a whimper, but it felt so good, so right, she couldn't do anything but curl fingers around the bars and bend over, body conforming to his, letting him use her as ricochets of pleasure streamed up her body. His thrusts grew frantic and desperate, and when her body twitched with an orgasm, she choked out his name - always his name, even when she was alone, it had _always_ been John's name on her lips whenever she came.

It sent John spiraling free, careening apart. He found his own climax with a bark in her ear, fingers digging into her flesh. In the aftermath, as they both got their breathing under control, John leaned against her, over her, his face buried in the crock of her shoulder. Sweat poured down their bodies and he held onto her waist as her muscles rode out the last convulsions, sheltering her; protecting her like he always had.

"Don't run away from me anymore," John whispered against her skin, steadying his breath. He nuzzled her neck lightly. "Don't—"

"I'm not," she stopped him, promising. "I won't, John."

He let out a dark, satisfied noise and simply held on tighter.

\--x--


	9. Chapter 9

\--x--

There was music in the distance that Elizabeth could faintly hear as she walked across the wide hallway, a torch in her hands. For a brief period as she stepped lightly across the cold stone slabs arranged beneath her bare feet, she wasn't thinking of the oddity of her surroundings. She didn't think much of the mysterious footpath when only moments ago she had settled, half dressed, with John curled against her back on their small cot.

The only thing she registered was the music – a violin, she identified upon further examination.

Elizabeth didn't know much about violins but the skill and sheer beauty with which the musician played the instrument was plainly impressive even to an amateur. She followed the sounds and turned a corner, finding herself at the threshold of a large room adorned with old Victorian furniture.

Elizabeth entered the room cautiously, swinging around a high arched chair to find it was Jennifer Keller wielding the instrument. Elizabeth pressed forward as she studied the musician playing over the unfretted fingerboard with her bow, smoothly, elegantly – the poignant sound being produced beautiful enough to move a person to tears.

When Jennifer finished the piece she tilted her head upwards at Elizabeth. "The funny thing?" she spoke lightly with a shake of her head. "Ellia never played the violin. Only I do. What do you think that means?"

Elizabeth stood rooted in her spot. "What am I doing here, Jennifer? Where is here?"

Jennifer rose and walked over to the open case resting nearby, placing the violin carefully inside. "I had to wait until you were asleep. I tried contacting you earlier when you were awake and you just ended up passing out on me." She flinched a little, and glanced up to Elizabeth with contrition in her eyes. "Sorry about that. I'm still trying to master most of my spells. Sometimes I put too much power into it."

"Into what?" Elizabeth struggled as she gazed about the high-ceiling room. "What's going on? Is this… this is a dream?"

"Yes, and no," Jennifer answered as she snapped the locks of her violin case closed. "It only exists in your head while you slumber but I assure you, Detective, this is real. I'm real, and we're having this conversation. In your head was the only place I could ensure we wouldn't be overheard by my father."

Elizabeth understood then, but she was no less confused by the circumstances. "So you're a mage like Zaddik?" The other girl nodded faintly, and Elizabeth wondered just how much knowledge of the dark arts had passed from father to daughter. "And why do you want to talk to me so badly?"

"Because," Jennifer replied, and her fingers played restlessly with a pendant hanging on her gold chain. The symbol was one Elizabeth recognized – Wiccan, meant for protection. She'd noticed one similar to it on Zaddik earlier. "I want to help you escape. I want… I need to help you stop my father."

\--x--

There was a flash of something else – bright and vivid.

John's hands were turning her body within his hold; tilting her hips to settle flat on the mattress as palms traced lightly over her hipbone. A shiver ran through her and she stirred, consciousness breached for a split second.

"Elizabeth," he coaxed, voice low, thicker than molasses. "Wake up, Eliza—"

\--x--

She was back in the castle again.

Jennifer reached the far window and stared out at the extensive view, and after a brief hesitation Elizabeth joined her. When she took in the scenery, there was a thicket of dense forestry down below and a river that ran parallel to the castle. The sight was majestic and beautiful but it rang false like something out of a fairy tale that a child would envision. Elizabeth wondered if that's what this was; _this_ was Jennifer's fantasy after all.

Jennifer turned to face her with desperate eyes. "We haven't much time. I don't know how long I can keep you here, and my father—"

"Why would you want to stop your father?" Elizabeth interrupted. "Why should I trust a word you say?"

"Because," Jennifer replied with a tinge of anxiety, bowing her head slightly, "He's hurting himself in the process of trying to save me. My father is a man devoted to my welfare, and it blinds him to everything else."

"Himself?" Elizabeth repeated incredulously, unable to dredge up even the tiniest bit of sympathy. Her voice was only coated over with revulsion. "He's hurting himself?"

"I'm not supposed to be alive, but I am. Magic is built on fundamental principles of balance. Balance between life and death. For me to continue living, someone else must suffer. My father… he has… he is the one that… that…"

The words were left hanging but Elizabeth abruptly understood the tacit admission without any explanation necessary. Her eyes fell to the Jennifer's pendant and the symbol spoke clearly of Zaddik's devotion to his daughter. Whatever necromancy Zaddik was using to keep Jennifer alive, Elizabeth suddenly made the connection that it was conversely draining him of life. A part of Elizabeth was left unwilling to believe that Zaddik – this vile man that had already wrought so much destruction - could be willing to make such a harsh sacrifice, even for his daughter, even if it was a temporary solution until he found other suitable resources.

But the more she thought about it, the more she realized that the only thing she knew about Zaddik Keller for certain was his undying affection for Jennifer.

She'd almost find that admirable if he wasn't a manipulative and murderous bastard.

Elizabeth's eyes focused on the younger woman, blazing with righteous indignation. "What about the werewolves and vampires? The people you've kidnapped for your sick, twisted experiments? You don't care about their sacrifices? Their suffering?"

Jennifer flinched and turned away. "I want it all to end," she insisted. "I _need_ it, too. You don't understand what it's like to…"

Wind brushed past them through the open window, and a long strand of blonde hair drifted into Jennifer's eye before she brushed it away. When she glanced back at Elizabeth, there were desperate tears welling in her eyes. Elizabeth wasn't sure how legitimate it was, though. She'd been duped by Jennifer's innocent face once before when she'd gone to the Keller residence with the full intentions of confessing her sins. Elizabeth wasn't going to be as trusting this time.

Jennifer must have felt Elizabeth's misgivings clearly because she cleared her throat and stood straighter. "I know what you're thinking."

Elizabeth exhaled hard. "I highly doubt that."

"I'm not supposed to be alive. What I am is… you can't imagine what it feels like when your blood runs ice-cold; when your limbs freeze and stiffen because they're _decaying_. I've felt that! I don't want to die, but this?" Jennifer shook her head angrily. "This isn't living. This is just dying slowly, plain and simple."

Elizabeth stared at the younger girl, conflicted. "How do you plan on helping me?" she inquired with a level gaze, trying to keep her voice even. "How can I trust you?"

Jennifer's lips thinned into a line. "Because I'm trusting you."

\--x--

A brief glimpse of John hovering over her form, settled between her legs and her body reacted instinctively. She shifted in a restless slumber, murmuring his name – half in protest.

She needed to stay sleeping; stay in the dream for just a bit longer.

\--x--

Face flushing, Elizabeth tried to concentrate on Jennifer but time clearly wasn't on their side anymore. "How can you help me?"

"Things have already been set in motion to set you free," Jennifer replied. "But first, I need two things from you."

"What?"

Jennifer held Elizabeth's stare evenly. "That day, when you came to my house… why were you there?"

There was a pregnant pause. "To confess to your sister's murder," Elizabeth whispered, but her focus was clearly fading now with every intake of breath. "To _your_ murder, as it turned out."

"Even though you thought you'd gotten away with it?" she pressed. "Why?"

A wave of dizziness overtook and Elizabeth staggered back; the version of reality before her ebbed and faded around the edges like the image she saw was being warped out of picture. She was going to wake up any second now and no amount of concentration or force of will was going to prevent it. Struggling to maintain contact with the other girl, the answer was pried loose without any thought.

"Because it was the right thing to do."

Jennifer stilled, scrutinizing her but Elizabeth was too disoriented to read the look on her face. Elizabeth felt the ghost of John's lips pressed against her inner thigh and her focus snapped completely for a split second as her body flushed with heat. The mate rose to the surface. But even as her attention split and began to shatter, Elizabeth curled fingers into fists and kept her gaze locked on Jennifer.

"I'm going to need that same sense of honor now, Detective," Jennifer urged. "You _owe_ me that much. I need you to promise me something."

A wave of dizziness over swept her and Elizabeth stumbled back again. "What?"

"My father," Jennifer implored. "Promise me if I help you, you or any of your people won't kill my father." Elizabeth's knees caved in under her and she crumbled to the ground, chest heaving, vision blurring, but Jennifer was on her knees in front of her. "Promise me," Jennifer insisted, tucking a hand under Elizabeth's chin to draw her gaze back, "you or your people won't kill my father. Promise me!"

Elizabeth stared up at the bright eyes of this girl whose life she'd taken, snatched away two years ago in that park. Jennifer – Ellia – whichever name she went by, it was still the same girl. Her death had haunted Elizabeth for so long that Elizabeth couldn't even clearly remember a time before it. It was for that reason, that guilt, that Elizabeth barely hesitated before answering with a nod.

"I promise," Elizabeth assured. "My people won't kill your father. I won't kill your father."

Jennifer nodded back. "I'll hold you to that, Detective. Now hold still, because this gift I'm about to give? Is going to _hurt_."

Elizabeth opened her mouth to question but the words never made it passed her lips. In the next second Elizabeth draw in more than just breath, more than just air – but power. Unadulterated pure energy began coursing through her veins and Elizabeth felt it flood her body. It engulfed her and surrounded her, and illuminated the world around her until all she saw was virgin white energy and a world where everything was connected; everything had its place; she could see it all.

Elizabeth didn't realize it but when she awoke, she did it screaming incoherently.

\--x--

Elizabeth didn't know how long it was before she calmed down, but between gasping for breath and trying to keep afloat in the massive flood of information, she found herself curled up in a tight ball on the thin flimsy mattress. Elizabeth's eyes burned and then she stretched her long legs stiffly, finding the back of her calves so tight it felt as if she'd just woken up from a coma, her muscles having atrophied. She wasn't used to the feeling; one of the advantages of being a werewolf was a quick recovery from even the most extreme injuries. But her body and mind had been through too much.

When she finally lifted her head, she found John crouched down beside her, running a hand along her back as he studied her with anxious eyes. The expression on his face was just shy of freaked out. That made two of them.

"Elizabeth, what's going on? Talk to me."

Her voice trembled with alarm, "I can suddenly see the entire cavern directly in front of me. I mean, every corridor, every single room. I can see it all."

She was everywhere. Looking through her eyes was like watching a wall with a hundred different monitors on it; each of them with a different view; different angle. Jennifer had given her a panoramic view of the entire substructure of the cave but with this knowledge, Elizabeth struggled to maintain any focus. She felt like she was drowning under too much sensation; too much exposure and awareness. She reached out a hand to grab almost blindly at John – except not, because the one thing she clearly _wasn't_ was blind.

She saw everything.

"Cameron," she breathed, catching a brief glimpse of him before other visions took over.

"What about him?" John questioned with narrowed eyes.

She gained coherency when his hand curled around her, the contact grounding her. It altered that surge of electricity into a steady flow and John managed to keep her attention. She seized hold of that connection like a life preserver, letting herself be pulled into his arms. She settled, still half dressed, against him on the mattress and let a few more minutes of silence pass.

The visions kept coming like an endless torrent of information, but she was managing to comprehend it better as time passed. Her focus sought out Cameron again, searching for him amongst all the corners and twists of this seemingly endless cavern. But it wasn't a cavern at all – just made to look like that at certain points. The true reality was that they were bunkered down in an old underground facility of some type, and the structure was larger than she could have imagined, stretching upwards and downwards for levels. She belatedly came to realize why Jennifer had gifted Elizabeth with this knowledge.

"Jennifer Keller is trying to help us," she breathed to John, and then slowly, while her attention ebbed and flowed among a thousand different sensations, she told him what happened. She finished the tale with a sigh. "If this is what Teyla goes through every time she has a vision," she shook her head, "I have a whole new level of appreciation for her."

John grunted, "We still need to get out of this cage. How is Jennifer going to help with that?"

But then Elizabeth suddenly realized it – the awareness coming to her as surely as the visions were. Jennifer didn't need to help with that. Plans had already been set in motion.

Elizabeth's voice was strained, "Cameron."

"Cameron?" he repeated in a sour tone.

After a steadying breath, she pulled herself upright. She'd hoped that any misplaced jealousy over Cameron biting her had been subdued already, but John had always been a possessive Alpha male. Not to mention that he had that damn enzyme still working through his system.

"Eastern quadrant of the cave. I can see him in the research facility. He's…" she trailed off, shocked at what she saw.

Cameron was feeding on a lifeless body of a Jaffa.

It was clear that a struggle had taken place and Cameron had won, and now he had his head bent over the guard's body as he drained it of blood. Elizabeth grasped the connection. She'd fed him with her own blood, and that in turn had given Cameron enough strength to catch his guard by surprise. Elizabeth watched as he dropped the body to the floor and then worked down the hallway, encountering another Jaffa that he quickly dispatched. A third Jaffa appeared, and falling just as easily, Cameron fed on all of them. He was gorging himself on the blood, drawing strength into his malnourished body; Elizabeth just watched, sickened and conversely hopeful, as he dispensed with one guard after another.

Apparently his policy against forcefully feeding on someone didn't extend to the monsters that had been holding him hostage for the last year of his life.

"Get dressed," Elizabeth whispered, turning to John. "We're getting out of here."

When Cameron finally made his way back to their prison cell, Elizabeth was on her feet and waiting for him. John was beside her, and she saw – like everything else – his suspicious gaze pass from one to another. She stepped forward when Cameron walked up to the cage, keys already in hand.

"You don't look that surprised to see me," Cameron urged with a grin. "I'd thought my rescue would at least merit a raised eyebrow or something."

"Twenty meters to the left," she mumbled, "Around the corner, there's an access door. Down one flight of stairs, you'll enter Auxiliary Corridor Seven. We can use that to get back to the main hallway. The mirror is another thirty meters beyond that."

Cameron paused, staring at her with a slack jaw. "How do you know that?"

"Long story," John mumbled, although he was eyeing Elizabeth with a disquiet look. "Just open the door."

Cameron heard the impatience behind John's words and flashed an easy-going smile. "Relax," he said, and swung open the cage door. "There's not a guard left on this level."

"Wrong," Elizabeth corrected as she pushed passed him and quickly advanced down the corridor with a purposeful stride. John and Cameron quickly rushed to catch up with her, throwing cautionary looks down both ways before they followed her down the hallway. "There's two guards are on the east quadrant and another one on the northwest," she informed. "There's several more on the third level, Auxiliary Corridor Five."

"Auxiliary what-now?" Cameron muttered as both men tried to play catch-up. Elizabeth didn't stop to explain, and Cameron's confusion quickly switched to annoyance. "Look, I've been around these parts for a while, and there isn't anything here with a fancy name like Auxiliary—"

"You only saw what they wanted you to see," Elizabeth stopped him. "This facility is military. I can tell by the blueprints – the layout. Or at least, it was once upon a time many years ago. The cavern is just a front, Cameron. Zaddik wanted you disoriented."

"And you know this how?"

Her focused stride never broke as she guided them through the hallways, taking sharp twists around every bend of the corridor. "Because," she answered, "I can see everything."

Behind her, John added with a roll of his eyes, "Or, you know, call it women's intuition."

Though Elizabeth knew she was eerily focused in her attention, John followed along with barely a question and soon Cameron was following her lead when it became obvious she instinctively knew what she was talking about. Twenty yards from the room, the tunnel curved slightly left and around that corner it dead-ended. Elizabeth knew the secret hatch that was hidden behind a large bolder, and together they moved it out of the way and descended the ladder one level down. They found the mirror exactly where she knew it'd be – standing isolated in that damp corner of the cavern with the stream of water rushing passed its base.

There were two guards stationed on either side but they were dealt with in a matter of seconds, dispatched by John and Cameron with barely a pause in their stride.

When she approached the mirror, she gazed into the surface and saw Zaddik's basement exactly like how she'd left it – dark and as uninviting as this cave.

John glanced at her and nodded. "We retreat, get reinforcements—"

"What about Zaddik?" Cameron cut in, and his eyes spoke clearly of reaping vengeance. "I'm not leaving without him."

Elizabeth exchanged a glance with John, suddenly reminded of her promise to Jennifer. "You're not going to kill him."

Cameron barked a laugh, but there was a sick touch of desperation in it. "I don't plan on making it that easy—"

"She's a cop," John stopped him, eyebrow raised pointedly. "I'd choose your words carefully if I were you."

Cameron threw Elizabeth a searching gaze, and when she confirmed the information with a nod, he simply shook his head. "I'm not leaving without him."

Elizabeth clenched her jaw and knew Cameron's thirst for reprisal was probably going to stop him from listening to any reason. After what he'd been through, Elizabeth wasn't really sure she blamed him. Zaddik didn't deserve mercy, especially not after what he'd done to Sumner, but she'd made a promise to Jennifer and she wasn't likely to let her word crumble so swiftly.

Though she knew it was a low blow, she said it anyway. "You owe me, Cameron. Let me deal with Zaddik myself, and I'll consider us even."

His eyes flashed, annoyed by the ultimatum, but she was hoping Cameron's sense of honor was still as high as she thought it'd been back in that cage.

Cameron released a sharp, harsh breath. "Fine, but only because…" he trailed off, glancing briefly to John before he refocused on Elizabeth. "If it was anyone else asking at any other time, I'd say no."

Turning back to the mirror, Elizabeth weighed the situation and then shook her head apprehensively. "I have no way of knowing what's on the other side of that mirror."

John stepped up beside her. "One way of finding out."

Cameron stepped up on the other side of her, and together, as one, they touched digits to the glossy surface.

Her hyper-awareness of everything didn't transfer as they shifted reality, displaced from the cave back to Zaddik's basement. The vision of the room ebbed and warped around the edges, then snapped back into place, and that first second after touching the mirror was like going from hi-definition TV back to radio signals. She barely registered anything but the transition in her perception. In the wake, Elizabeth took a steadying breath, trying to reorient herself with a normal vision after _just_ getting used to the panoramic awareness of everything.

Cameron was on the other end of the basement, looking up the flight of stairs with a dark glare. "Looks clear from here."

Elizabeth trailed behind both men as they climbed the stairs and a few moments later it became obvious that the house was vacant and empty. Zaddik and Jennifer were probably still back… wherever the hell that cave was – alternate reality, alien planet – Elizabeth didn't know what to call it. She retrieved her gun and her badge from the hallway table, right where she'd left it coming in. She quickly pocketed the tin metal and slipped the gun back into place, well aware that John was jittery behind her, impatient to leave the place already.

"We should get the pack," John insisted. "Gather everybody and head back here. I know you're gonna want to call Sumner and the rest of your friends on this, but I don't think they can—"

"No," she cut in softly. "That won't be necessary."

Her tone must have given away more than she intended because John turned to eye her, but before he could voice the inquiry Elizabeth was walking towards the front door. Cameron reached the foyer first, except about three feet ahead of her he struck something – an invisible barrier in midair. His body jolted as though electrified and then he was flung backwards; Elizabeth letting loose a scream of shock as she watched him crash to ground.

The room was shielded by a magic invisible force field.

She dropped to Cameron's side as he struggled to sit up. "Wait," she warned. "Take it easy."

John eyed Elizabeth's concern for Cameron with annoyance. "Yeah," he adopted a lazy drawl, "you don't want to strain something."

Elizabeth threw John a look warning him to play nice, and refocused on Cameron as she helped him to his feet. As he steadied himself, Cameron squeezed her hand in reassurance and let go. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I'm sure the cartoon birdies will go away any second now."

"Force field," John muttered as he ran a sweeping gaze across the room. "Bastard protects his house from people breaking in as well as breaking out—"

There was a crash from the kitchen that drew everyone's attention. John responded first, lightning quick, and by the time Elizabeth followed him through the swinging door she stopped short in her tracks, shocked. The door at the back had been torn off its hinges and two figures stood standing in the dim light.

"You know," Michael said as he brushed off shards of wood from his black coat, "you people really should learn how to communicate better."

Beside him, Teyla raised an eyebrow and sighed. "I'm beginning to agree with you."

\--x--

Elizabeth's mouth gaped open in astonishment as Teyla hobbled to the front with a bad limp favoring her right leg. "I've been trying to contact you for hours."

"We've been trying to contact you for days," Elizabeth countered, eyeing her in concern. "Where have you been?"

"Busy," Teyla answered. "Recouping from an altercation I had with Zaddik days ago. I found out who he was and went after him, but I underestimated his strength. I've spent the last few days lying low, regathering my strength. I was… not conscious for most of it."

Beside her, Michael grunted. "It took a lot of effort to find her."

"And who's her?" Cameron spoke up, and then nodded towards Michael. "And him?"

"Michael Kenmore," he introduced himself.

"Cameron Mitchell."

"Vampire," they both acknowledged in the same beat.

John rolled his eyes. "And that's Teyla Emmagan, witch. Now that introductions have been made," he turned back to Teyla, "you can tell us what the hell is going on."

Teyla sent a glare in John's direction. "I find your faith in my abilities very flattering, John, but I am not a magic eight-ball."

But Elizabeth was with John on this one. First and foremost Elizabeth was glad her friend was safe and sound after fearing for so long that something horrible had happened to her. But mostly, one notch below that relief Elizabeth hoped she was going to get the heart of things now. Teyla had been the one to get rid of Ellia Keller's body in the first place. She'd been the one to sense the presence of a dark mage these last few months. She was a clairvoyant and a mage, and hopefully understood Zaddik better than the rest of them.

The Wiccan had always been secretive by nature. Being nearly two hundred years old, Elizabeth couldn't begin to fathom the number of secrets Teyla held in her possession. But this was different and Elizabeth wasn't in the mood to wait anymore. She wanted answers now.

"Teyla," Elizabeth sighed, "we need to talk."

Teyla nodded, but she was more interested in asking questions than answering them. "How did you manage to escape from Zaddik's—?"

"Jennifer Keller helped us," Elizabeth cut in pointedly. "Or should I say Ellia Keller?"

That got Teyla to pause. "I see," and the two words said a plethora of things. "There is much we need to talk about."

"Might I suggest we get out of here first?" Michael added. "Teyla, the force field?"

Teyla nodded, turning back to the barrier and raising a hand against the air. The invisible force field flashed bright white briefly before it vanished again and the group stepped past the former obstacle without even a blink of an eye. They retreated to the front porch, where Michael's black SUV was sitting in the driveway parked beside Elizabeth's own sedan. John walked up to Elizabeth's car and eyed the huge indent on the driver's side door – the one caused from the explosion earlier that had claimed Sumner's life.

"What happened to your car?" John asked confused.

From the corner of her eye, she saw Teyla freeze and then toss Elizabeth a soft, sympathetic look. It was obvious that the clairvoyant knew exactly what had caused the damage to her car. "You did not tell him?"

"Tell me what?" John asked.

Elizabeth turned away. "There was another explosion."

"Explosion?" John repeated roughly. "Anybody get hurt?"

Elizabeth stared back, struck silent.

The last of the night began to drain out of the sky above, and though the sun wasn't even a sliver on the horizon yet she still felt the warmth of it on her back. The two vampires among the group quickly retreated into the dark tinted protection of Michael's SUV, and Teyla flashed a brief glance in Elizabeth's direction before she left as well. The weight of silence hung heavy in the air as John and Elizabeth stared off at each other, but she couldn't find her voice.

Elizabeth couldn't do it anymore. She couldn't continue lying. "Yes," she admitted with a soft breath, "somebody got hurt."

Concerned, John pressed closer to her. "Who?"

Her eyes misted over, and then, like pulling a Band-Aid off quickly, she confessed the secret to him with one simple word – Sumner's name.

\--x--

They regathered their strength and numbers.

The two vampires went their separate ways as John, Teyla and Elizabeth returned to the pack's building. Rodney and half the pack were waiting up for them when they walked through the front doors; the other half had apparently mounted a search team for Elizabeth as soon as she had gone missing. Caldwell had been making frequent calls to Rodney over the last few hours ever since Elizabeth had disappeared from the parking lot crime scene, and the paranoia had justifiably spread.

Elizabeth studied the common room. She nearly flinched against the fearful, questioning look on Rodney's face and the expectant expression on half a dozen other members of her pack as they went about explaining the severity of Zaddik's threat.

"He's not going to stop unless we stop him," John emphasized.

Laura voiced the thought no one else was willing to say. "Not to be the voice of reason here – which is really not a good look for me – but how do we stop somebody that powerful? He's got vampires and guards, and I'm wondering how many of 'em are hopped up on that enzyme?"

Elizabeth's eyes fell to the bite mark on her arm, the one Cameron had given her. She faintly sighed, and a moment later turned to speak evenly to the audience at large. "We'll get vampires of our own to help. Michael." She tossed a brief glance to Teyla for reassurance, who nodded demurely in return. "And another one named Cameron Mitchell that we just met. They'll provide us with additional support."

Several different outcries broke out from the crowd and as people started talking over each other in protest to the news, anarchy quickly swept across the pack. Elizabeth knew the inherent problem. Werewolves had an instinctual hatred against vampires and the feeling was entirely mutual. A couple of days ago Elizabeth would have even been inclined to agree with the rest of her pack's sentiment, but they didn't have that luxury anymore.

"Look, we do it this way or we risk too much," Elizabeth tried. "We need allies in this fight."

Laura shook her head. "Yeah, but vampires aren't--"

"What do you suggest?" Elizabeth cut in. "We have no other supernatural resources. Even I know that my department couldn't handle this. We need help. Vampires want this guy as much as we do. The enemy of my enemy--"

"Can kiss my ass too," Laura denied with a roll of her eyes.

Elizabeth's eyes steeled. "Fine. Then we'll just go in by ourselves? Without backup. Without proper resources or even worthy intel. We'll go in there blind, outnumbered, outgunned, and blood thirsty. We'll slash some claws and wreck havoc. Then what?" She glanced briefly towards John, remembering how she'd found him in that cell, shackled and bleeding. "We'll get slaughtered, that's what. This man is more powerful and vindictive than anything else we've ever faced before-"

Her cell phone cut her off before she could get any further. Caldwell's ID flashed brightly on her display screen and Elizabeth suddenly felt a little claustrophobic.

She glanced back at Laura with her eyes hardened. "We can play this angry, or we can play this smart. Those are our two options."

Making excuses, she retreated towards the kitchen to steal a moment for herself but by the time she reached her destination the cell phone had gone silent.

Instead of doubling back to the pack, or calling Caldwell back, the morning paper rested on the kitchen countertop and caught her eye. The front page was splashed with a byline about the explosion in the police parking lot late last night; details regarding Sumner's death. The reality of seeing the information there in black and white was disquieting, and Elizabeth read the highlighted blurb from Caldwell saying they had the full strength and resources of the entire department investigating the explosion. But it wasn't true. Elizabeth wasn't there with the rest of her colleagues and though she knew she'd have to deal with Caldwell eventually, she wasn't quite sure what she'd say to him when she did. How was she was supposed to explain to her boss everything that had happened to her recently?

Teyla eventually found Elizabeth in the kitchen and quickly pilfered the stool beside her. At first, they did nothing but sit in silence for several moments. Teyla, for the most part, was a very perceptive individual. She always knew when to speak, when to push, when to stay quiet and let silence reign. Elizabeth enjoyed that particular trait as she was usually surrounded by boisterous men who never knew when to keep quiet.

Sumner had been such a man.

"Do you want to know what I see when I look at you?" Teyla said when she broke the silence. Elizabeth twisted in her seat to face Teyla, an inquisitive look on her face. "I see the weight of everything on your shoulders. Not just those burdens that are rightfully yours, but… _everything_. You can only be held responsible for so many things, Elizabeth. But some are beyond even your grasp."

"Sumner's death is one thing I am responsible for," Elizabeth answered.

"Zaddik did that," Teyla countered with a shake of her head. "Do not take responsibility for the actions of a madman, Elizabeth. This is exactly what I'm talking about."

Elizabeth took a cleansing breath, refocusing her attention to other things. "Zaddik," she said as she swiveled in her chair to face Teyla. "Can you defeat him?"

Teyla glanced away and that pause terrified Elizabeth. She'd always looked to Teyla for so many things; seen the Wiccan as a guiding, comforting presence that always knew what she was doing. If Teyla felt lost and bewildered under the current circumstances, there was a voice in back of her head that mocked Elizabeth mercilessly of her own chances.

"There's a pendant that Zaddik wears," Teyla informed, "with it, his defense against my magic is formidable. This amulet is probably one of the oldest protective charms I've ever seen."

Elizabeth dropped her head into her hands, scrubbing fingers across her scalp in frustration. "Well, that's always nice to hear."

Teyla frowned. "Elizabeth, I don't think you should be dealing with any of this anymore."

Elizabeth's head snapped up and stared at her in bewilderment. "Excuse me?"

Teyla sighed heavily, seemingly needing a moment to draw strength. "During the last few days, I've been in a fitful sleep and visions have come to me. Two of importance – one, where I see you protecting this Gingerbread Man—"

"Ronon," Elizabeth kept her answer short. "Vampire hunter who's being held in custody right now." Teyla raised an eyebrow in question, so Elizabeth explained. By the end of it determination had settled into Teyla's eyes and she could see exactly where the Wiccan was headed. "You want me to get him released, don't you?"

"It is important that we free him," Teyla agreed. "I don't know why, but it is. Except I do not want you any further involved than necessary."

Elizabeth blinked; she was more involved in this mess than anyone else. "Why?"

"Because," Teyla confessed, "in my second vision, I saw you…"

"What?"

"I think I saw you die."

\--x--

"Where are you headed?" John prodded, sometime later.

Elizabeth hung up the phone. For a long moment she kept her hand on it, digesting what she'd just been told not only by Caldwell but the revelation revealed to her earlier by Teyla. The words were hard to dismiss, but Elizabeth wasn't looking to curl up into a fetal position because things were looking bleak. Convincing herself that there was always a loophole to Teyla's vision, she squared her shoulders and turned back to John.

At length, she said, "I'm headed back to the precinct. I need to go and get Ronon."

"The Ginger man?" John's voice twisted wryly.

"The _Gingerbread_ Man," Teyla corrected from the other end of the room.

Teyla was discreetly perched against the wall but Elizabeth kept her gaze averted from her. She didn't need to glance at Teyla to sense the displeasure rolling off her in waves, but Elizabeth hoped the Wiccan would honor her word and keep quiet. The last thing they needed right now was John's overprotective streak surging in light of Teyla's latest revelation.

"The Gingerbread man," John granted with a smirk, "Oh, yeah, 'cause that sounds a whole lot manlier."

Elizabeth suspected his tune would change once he actually met Ronon. She crossed the room and retrieved a few of her belongings, gathering them together quickly. She spotted a duffle bag in the corner and unceremoniously dumped its contents on the floor before she settled it on a nearby table, reloading the bag with her own things.

John stood with his arms crossed over his chest, raising an eyebrow as he shrewdly commented, "Do you really need to leave now? I don't think you should be separated from the pack—"

"I am going with her," Teyla intervened. "Do not worry. I will keep a close eye on her."

The words were directed to comfort John, but the message was clearly intended for Elizabeth's benefit. Elizabeth didn't like the idea of being babysat but it was either this or Teyla would tell John the full truth. Of the two, this option was the lesser of two evils. Resigning herself to having Teyla as a shadow for as long as this would take, Elizabeth quickly filled John in on her plans as she stuffed her things into the bag.

"We'll be back in an hour," Elizabeth finished, forcing a smile. "I just have to go in and get Ronon. I'll be right back."

"Caldwell agreed to this?" John asked skeptically.

"Not in so many words, no," Elizabeth conceded, "but with Teyla's help I'll convince him it's necessary. He doesn't want any more bloodshed over this. He'll bend the rules if he has to."

Teyla pushed off the wall and nodded. "I will be waiting in the other room, Elizabeth."

John watched Teyla leave the room before he rounded the table and approached Elizabeth. She kept herself busy as she dropped a spare change of clothing and an extra magazine clip into the bag when John abruptly pried the possession away from her. When she protested, he simply dangled the bag out of her reach.

She glowered at him, frustration fixed rigidly on her face as her hands hit her hips. "Give me back the—"

"Elizabeth." He ignored her glare. "What aren't you telling me?"

 _Trust him_ , a voice whispered to her as she froze.

Her face softened as she realized she wanted to tell him about Teyla's vision, desperately. She hated lying to John because for all her secrets, he was the one person she'd always been completely open and honest with. But then she remembered his overprotective streak.

If the situation was reversed, Elizabeth was convinced John would be doing the same exact thing. The thought reassured her, and that cold comfort would have to suffice for the moment.

She walked forward, and it was cheating slightly, but she pressed a quick kiss to his lips and murmured in a gentle voice, "Nothing's wrong, John. I'll be back in an hour."

"I still don't like it," John persisted, wrapping an arm around her waist. "Zaddik probably already knows we've escaped."

"Teyla will be with me the entire time," she reasoned. "I'll be safer with her than with anybody."

John sighed, but it sounded more like a groan to Elizabeth. "Zaddik is working with vampires, though. Chaya and her ilk—"

"It's broad daylight outside," Elizabeth countered. "And, guess what? I can handle a skanky vampire or two. Plus," she reminded pointedly, "Teyla."

Frustrated, he ran his free hand through his hair. "I'll come with you two."

She wanted to roll her eyes. "You need to stay here and get everybody ready. Lead them. You should have seen the pack without you, before. Rodney was attempting to lead and I'm surprised there wasn't an insurrection in the last twelve hours—"

"Elizabeth," he protested.

Elizabeth sighed heavily and pressed a hand to his cheek. "I'll be fine. I promise."

She meant to kiss him lightly once more in reassurance – nothing more than a brief distraction from his line of questioning – but somehow it turned into a lingering kiss that included her doing that thing with her tongue that usually drove John insane. He groaned against her lips and the duffle bag dropped heavily to the ground. Elizabeth wasn't even vaguely aware that John was edging her back until her backside collided with the table.

John's warm hand cupped the nape of her neck, pinning her to him as his mouth dragged over hers, brutally insistent and aggressive. When they pulled apart, her breath came in short, jagged bursts and it didn't take a genius to figure out where John was headed with this.

Whether it was the enzyme still in his system or the effects of finally breaching this distance after two long years apart, John's attentions towards her had been persistent for the last few hours and she bet the idea of _this_ had never been far from his thoughts. She couldn't find it in her to argue with his logic. The hardening evidence against her thigh managed to overrule any resistance she could have had and the next thing she knew they were kissing again, heatedly locked in an embrace that was open-mouthed and hungry.

It wasn't long before their pants were pushed down, underwear dragged out of the way, and John was thrusting into her hard and fast as she leaned back against the table for support. Her slacks were down around her ankles, but her shirt rode up to expose her stomach when John ran a palm up and down. He cupped her breast, rolling one of her nipples between his thumb and finger and Elizabeth moaned, so sensitive to his touch, the scent of him clouding everything else, overwhelming her.

The entire escapade couldn't have lasted much more than ten minutes but John soon found his release and then he was eagerly helping Elizabeth get off, finding her clit and rubbing fingers urgently until she came. She shuddered and convulsed, and John steadied her body against his chest as she slumped forward with a flushed face.

They were motionless for a couple of minutes afterwards, getting their breath under control. Elizabeth was still recovering when John pulled away to roll her underwear back up her sticky thighs. Then he helped tug up her pants before he got himself back in order. It would be obvious to anybody that looked at them what had just transpired – especially to a building full of paranormals with heightened awareness. Elizabeth didn't care; she wanted everybody to know that she was back with John. They had two years to make up for.

She wasn't about to let some damn prophetic vision get in the way of that.

\--x--

Caldwell stared at her, absorbing everything she'd just told him. "So let me get this straight," he muttered. "Zaddik, this dark mage which Ms. Emmagan fought and lost against—"

"It wasn't a defeat," Teyla protested a little. An anxious look flittered over her face; that idea didn't sit well with her at all. "I… I wounded him just as much as he wounded me."

Caldwell nodded graciously but continued in a no-nonsense tone. "He's the one that's responsible for the new paranormal drug, a bunch of kidnapped vampires, and the explosions lately, including the one that killed Sumner yesterday. In fact, you and Sheppard were his prisoners earlier today and you only managed to escape because of help from his daughter? Who may or may not be the living dead."

None of those statements were really a question so Elizabeth didn't offer a confirmation; just stood there while silence brewed in the air. Caldwell was not a very difficult man to talk to but she quickly found out early in their relationship that he had a knack for knowing when someone was being duplicitous. Though she hadn't told him a lie, she hadn't told him the full truth either. She hadn't told him the cause of Ellia Keller's death.

Caldwell swiveled in his chair and set a ballpoint pen down over a stalk of paperwork. "Ms. Emmagan, could you excuse us for a second? I need to speak with Detective Weir in private."

Teyla exchanged a brief glance with Elizabeth and then, after a stiff nod, quietly left Caldwell's office. When the door shut after her, Caldwell grew very quiet for a long pause.

"I'll make you a deal," he said at length. "I'll drop all charges against Ronon Dex and release him into your custody under one condition. You tell me the full truth, unvarnished. I know you're holding out on me because there's a huge piece of this puzzle that you've been hiding since the beginning of this investigation. I have no idea what it is, but if you don't tell me right this second, not only is Ronon Dex staying in that cell of his for a very long time, I'll pull you off this case. Have I made myself clear enough?"

Elizabeth stood there at a loss for words for a moment before she regained her ability to speak. "Captain—"

"Don't test me," Caldwell warned. "I have no idea what this is about, but I can already see you're headed somewhere dangerous with it. If you're not going to play it smart and honest, then I want you off this investigation."

"This man killed Sumner," she rebutted heatedly, eyes flashing with anger. "You can't expect me to back off—"

Caldwell rose to his full height, then leaned over and planted his palms against the desk as he stared her down. "I can, and I have full authority to do so. One cop is already dead from this, and you? You just nosedived into a suicidal mission and managed to get out through sheer, dumb luck."

Elizabeth felt her ire begin to simmer. "I am the only person in this department that has any idea how to handle a paranormal—"

"Elizabeth," he demanded coolly, "Tell me what the hell is going and I'll give you what you need. But just tell me the truth!"

She started to rebut, then realized there was little she could argue against. It wasn't often that Elizabeth was struck speechless but she had no idea how to respond to Caldwell's ultimatum. The thing that prevented her from speaking up was that he wasn't even asking for much – just the truth. And he deserved that much. A lot of people did. How was she supposed to tell her boss that she was responsible for a two year old murder? Even if the victim of the murder was walking up and about with a pretty smile on her face?

Elizabeth's anger sagged with her shoulders. "If I tell you the full truth, you let me walk out of here with Ronon? I have your word on that?"

"My word as an officer and a gentleman," Caldwell responded, and on any other man she would have thought it sarcastic but Caldwell managed to pull it off. "Tell me what's going on, Elizabeth."

"I…" She cleared her throat. "I'm responsible… for…" she closed her eyes and took a steadying gulp of air, and then just spat it out in one breath. "Two years ago, I killed Ellia Killer during a full moon." She opened her eyes to find Caldwell staring at her, speechless. "I was – am – responsible for her death."

"You mean the girl who's Jennifer Keller right now?"

She nodded, her throat suddenly so constricted she couldn't manage another word. This was what she imagined confessing to Sumner would have been like. Watching the shock and then abject repulsion register on his face was a slap across Elizabeth's face, but she stared Caldwell in the eye, unflinching.

"Is that all?" Caldwell recovered harshly, "no other skeletons in your closet?"

She desperately wanted to defend herself – to tell him that she'd had every intention of confessing to her crimes the first moment of opportunity presented to her. Things had just gone down in such a convoluted way that it had necessitated one lie and omission after another. But Caldwell was a cop and had heard every excuse in the book; she didn't want to debase herself further by making a plea for her case.

After a moment of deafening silence, Caldwell surprised her by reaching for the phone. When he conveyed orders to Grodin to begin processing Ronon's release, Elizabeth kept stock rigid, shocked into silence.

When he hung up, he settled heavily back in his chair and refused to look up at her. "Ronon is yours."

He was actually holding true to his word even after her revelation. Elizabeth wasn't quite sure how to respond. She rose in awkward silence, feeling Caldwell's silent dismissal as loud as church bells. She turned, but his cold voice stopped her dead in her tracks before she reached the knob.

"Before you walk out that door, I need your badge and your gun."

The words hit her with a force she wasn't prepared for. She whirled around and found Caldwell staring at her. He tapped his desk twice and silently motioned for her to hand over the belongings.

Elizabeth began in a low, almost hollow voice, "I—"

"You're a disgrace to the badge, and I can't let you walk out of here with it." He shook his head angrily and rose again, suddenly like a towering figure. "Of all the people here, I never once thought I'd ever have this conversation with _you_." He slammed a hand down against the desktop and Elizabeth jumped a little, unable to comprehend what was happening. "Your badge and your gun," he repeated.

Reluctantly – as though her limbs were moving through molasses, as though she was watching someone else draw out the action – Elizabeth reached for her belongings. Resting the tin metal and GLOCK in her hands for a moment, she stared down at them and then swallowed hard as she settled them on Caldwell's desk. She felt like she was giving up a piece of her soul with it; losing her job in Atlantis was like stripping Elizabeth of her identity. She'd been a cop before she'd been a werewolf; before she'd come to Atlantis; before she'd even been out of college Elizabeth had known law enforcement was what she was meant to do with her life.

"Now take Dex and get out," Caldwell ordered, and the condemnation of his words followed her out the door.

\--x--

Teyla's voice floated over the clamor of the precinct but Elizabeth made no conscious effort to prevent the words from becoming anything more than background noise. Her eyes focused on the wall, staring blankly as she tried to ignore the stares of several fellow detectives around her. No one knew what had just transpired in Caldwell's office; she suspected even Teyla didn't have a clue. To her colleagues, Elizabeth was still worthy of sympathetic pats on the shoulder and words of encouragement.

Grodin returned, escorting Ronon towards them. She barely managed a greeting before she was turning away, leaving Teyla and Ronon to make introductions themselves and quickly follow after her. Elizabeth picked her way carefully along the winding path around the desks and passed the receptionist area, her stomach clenched in an abusive knot.

The parking lot was still cordoned off as crime scene remains, so they worked their way towards the side alley where Elizabeth had parked her car.

"Where are we headed?" Ronon asked as he climbed into the back of Elizabeth's sedan.

"To the pack's building," Teyla replied. "John should have mustered enough reinforcements by now, and I suspect we'll make the siege on Zaddik's house soon. Michael and Cameron have both volunteered to return to us with their own numbers in vampires."

Elizabeth started the car with a look back at Ronon through the rearview mirror. "Vampires?" Ronon barked harshly. "What the hell do you mean by that?"

Teyla glanced over her shoulder with a raised eyebrow. "We are working together with some vampires against—"

He turned to Elizabeth angrily. "You never said anything about that."

Elizabeth felt a surprising surge of determination wash over, calm and steady, soothing her devastation away like a flood. "Against Zaddik and his followers, we need all the help we can get."

Ronon settled back against his seat with a scowl. He turned away and stared out the window, but surprisingly, the expected protest never came. "Take us to my workshop first. The cops took the guns from my trunk, so I gotta reload before we do this."

It was probably a good idea. Elizabeth nodded. "Where's your place?"

\--x--

Elizabeth stood in the center of the poorly lit building, taking in the scenery with a sweep of her eyes. Ronon's place was set up in an old ironworks factory, and the accommodations somehow suited him perfectly. It was like he lived in something of a cross between an auto junkyard and an armory. Equipment was strewn everywhere: lathes, mills, old furnaces, gutted vehicles, an ad-hoc surgical theater in one corner; all of it was jerry-rigged with unsophisticated tools that were coated over with oil and grease.

"Resourceful," Teyla remarked diplomatically as she came to stand beside Elizabeth.

The two women exchanged pointed glances and didn't comment further. They watched Ronon walk across the cold concrete with a purposeful stride, a palpable energy to him that Elizabeth couldn't deny was menacing. He planted his feet in front of a large metal cabinet and opened it up to reveal shelves lined with an array of weaponry inside. Not just the average guns, either. The collection held flame throwers and what Elizabeth could readily recognize as a grenade launcher and SWAT artillery. On the top shelf, separated from the firearms hung on display, were several other items of interest – a row of three elegant swords and a line of good old fashioned wooden stakes.

Teyla approached him from behind and eyed the arrangement critically. "A silver longsword and a set of dual, self-forged katanas," she murmured in appreciation. "You do not see those much these days."

Ronon glanced over at the smaller woman, and though he didn't say anything to the effect, Elizabeth sensed that Teyla had just gone up a few notches in his estimation. "And the firearms all come with special brand of bullets. Silver hollow points filled with liquefied garlic."

Teyla quirked her eyebrow, impressed. "A most effective tool against vampires." Teyla turned to toss a pointed look back at Elizabeth that clearly said, _where did you find this guy?_

Elizabeth raised her hands and shrugged, rotating so that she could examine the rest of Ronon's workshop while the other two loaded up on weaponry. Her eyes skidded over the small cot flushed against the wall and realized Ronon didn't just store his armory here, he probably slept, ate and bathed here. This was his home. Though she recognized it was a tad judgmental of her, she couldn't help but think it wasn't much of a livelihood. It was certainly isolated at the very least, as Elizabeth imagined Ronon didn't forge many connections in the world beyond those of his hunt.

That was when she sensed it, her heightened hearing picking up the shuffling sound before glass shattered from the other end of the workshop. If she hadn't been paying specific attention Elizabeth almost would have missed it – but she whirled on her feet just as the faint hiss of a bullet whizzed by her head, obviously hushed by a silencer.

Another one followed and struck Ronon in the back.

Chaos broke out.

He staggered to the ground and the next thing Elizabeth knew a splatter of gunfire erupted. She dove for cover and amongst the chaos she turned to find Teyla had dropped to her knees, reaching over to haul Ronon back behind the cover of a worktable with more strength than should have been imbued in such a petite woman. Teyla lifted a corner of his shirt to inspect the wound, and the blood was so black in color Elizabeth suspected the bullet had hit his liver.

The revelation left only one thought floating through her head – medical intervention. Now.

"Ronon?" Elizabeth crawled her way over and applied pressure against the wound, and Ronon practically growled at her. "Stay with me. You're going to be fine."

Teyla caught Elizabeth's eye. "I will handle the sniper. You keep an eye on Ronon."

She spun around before Elizabeth could respond and even though a large arsenal of weaponry rested only a few feet away, Teyla paid it no mind. Amidst the scent of Ronon's blood and the waft of motor oil, Elizabeth felt the molecules of air stir. A sizzle of electricity worked between Teyla's digits and Elizabeth realized the other woman was _pissed_. The Wiccan's eyes crackled with dark blue energy as she rose fearlessly and spread her arms wide. A bolt of electricity shot out from her fingertips like lightning and struck the wall clear across the workshop.

The sniper gave away his position with a scream.

Teyla advanced.

Elizabeth let her attention drift back to Ronon, finding his eyes glazed over before they drifted shut and he lost consciousness. The noise in the background from Teyla's fight suddenly faded away and her focus narrowed to the limp body in her arms. She tuned out everything but the faint rhythm of Ronon's heartbeat, getting fainter, and a flashback suddenly sprang to mind.

 _Sumner's fingers tightened slightly around her hand and then fell away. His eyes stared up at her, suddenly vacant and still, and Elizabeth couldn't formulate a word, not even a thought._

It was déjà vu all over again, and for a blind moment Elizabeth felt a cold terror grip her until she couldn't draw breath. No. Not again. Without thought, without reason, without a shred of that logic and control she so prided herself on, Elizabeth reacted on pure instinct alone. Primal and insatiable, the answer came to her and Elizabeth's teeth sharpened as she bent her head over Ronon's beating pulse.

 _Protect the Gingerbread Man. You must save this man; guide him… Whatever you do, help him._

"Forgive me," Elizabeth breathed, and sank her teeth down into his flesh.

\--x--


	10. Chapter 10

\--x--

There was a large crash on the other side of the factory that jarred Elizabeth back to reality.

She jerked away from Ronon, the tang of thick copper blood trickling down her throat and found that Teyla’s struggles with the sniper had somehow devolved into hand-to-hand combat. They both reached for one of Ronon’s guns at the same time, but Teyla snagged a rope of chain-link metal from a nearby junk pile and wrapped the cord around her arm. Wielding the shackles as a weapon, Teyla jerked the chain and struck her opponent in the face that sent him reeling back to the ground.

Elizabeth’s gaze fell to Ronon and prayed the bite did its work quickly. She’d never sired anyone before; never even seen anyone else do it. A simple bite sometimes didn’t work in turning a human - into a werewolf, vampire, whatever. It was always more art than science but Ronon had a shot at surviving now if the infection worked fast enough.

She lowered Ronon to the ground and, crouching, she reached behind him towards the cabinet that lay open at his feet. The arsenal inside housed a few interesting weapons but Elizabeth went with the familiar standard sidearm. The magazine clip rested on the third shelf; silver hollow points filled with liquefied garlic, if she remembered Ronon correctly. Personally, Elizabeth didn’t _want_ to handle them. Silver bullets did more damage to werewolves than they did vampires, after all. But she locked and loaded the weapon, and whirled around with her aim high.

She never got the chance to fire.

A second assailant snuck in from the side and a bullet slammed into Elizabeth, then another, and she stood rooted in shock for a full two seconds before her knees caved in under her.

“Elizabeth!” Teyla screamed.

Elizabeth lost consciousness before she even hit the ground.

\--x--

Elizabeth came to, slowly, blinking groggily against the harsh light from above. For a blinding moment, a part of her wondered if she was staring into the bright light at the end of the proverbial tunnel or something equally as cliché. But with time came sensation, and the thick grogginess melted away to leave Elizabeth with the impression of stiff muscles and a dry, scratchy throat. She blinked back the fogginess to discover the bright white light was the glare of sunlight streaming in through the nearby open window.

Elizabeth ran a searching gaze through the room to discover she was in a king-sized bed. There was an IV drip attached to her arm, filled with a bluish liquid, and a heart monitor resting towards one side. Despite the accommodations, Elizabeth readily recognized that the environment as nothing close to a hospital. Instead, she was obviously situated in somebody’s bedroom.

She wasn’t alone, either.

“John,” she tried in a voice barely above a strained whisper.

Asleep, John sported stubble on his chin that was at least three days old, and it looked as though his body had physically molded to that chair at some point. When he stirred and opened his eyes, his expression flooded with relief as soon as they connected with hers.

"Hey," he breathed in a gruff voice.

She sensed something was wrong from the get-go.

\--x--

She quickly found out she’d been in a coma for nearly three days.

“Why Carson’s place?” Elizabeth asked in confusion. She’d been drifting in and out of sleep, barely managing to stay coherent for more than a few minutes at a time. Her thought process was a complete jumbled mess but she was slowly getting better. “And how did you cure me so quickly? I took two shots to the chest. I should be—”

“You nearly were,” John stopped her, leaning forward and scrubbing a hand through his hair. “You have any idea how close you came to dying?”

Elizabeth’s half-lidded eyes nearly flashed with defiance. John had been tortured. Teyla had to recover for days after a fight with Zaddik. Cameron Mitchell hadn’t been fed in months, and Ronon…

“Ronon,” she murmured heavily. “What happened to him?”

John braced his elbows on his knees, answering in a teasing voice, “We’ve got a new member of the family, it seems.”

The declaration was nearly too much. Letting a tense exhale slip through her lips, she wondered how everything would change now because of this. She had turned someone. The action would have consequences far reaching and extreme, but Elizabeth could only focus on them in the abstract.

“See?" she tried. "I’m hardly the only person here that’s had a few rough days. When was the last time you or any of the others slept?”

She studied him under the dimming light of the day, scrutinizing the slump of his shoulders and the heavy bags under his eyes. She stretched out her fingers, seeking that contact that only a member of her kin could provide – only her mate, really. He seized her hand and then didn’t resist in the slightest as she tugged him closer. Obligingly, John clambered into the bed alongside her, and for once she was thankful that they were in Carson’s bedroom instead of a hospital.

The grogginess overwhelmed her as Elizabeth nestled against John, head cradled over the beating thump of his chest.

 _Thump, thump. Thump, thump. Thump, thump._

Just a moment before she fell asleep again, she realized John hadn’t answered her question. Why was she in Carson’s bedroom in the first place? Sleep overtook her before she could press the issue, and when she awoke again, John was gone.

It was Rodney’s turn to watch over her, apparently, but for some reason he looked more frayed around the edges than even John.

The sight of him so obviously distraught and exhausted threw her, and she immediately voiced her concerns. He tried to shrug it off, but that was when Elizabeth realized things were really serious. Rodney never passed up a chance to bemoan about aches, pains, and the troubles he endured. It was when he did that she knew things had reached a brand new level of apocalyptic.

But Rodney quickly cracked. “Now we’re stuck loitering around Carson’s place like a bunch of freeloaders or distant relatives that don’t know when the invitation for a quick visit ran into an expiration date."

"Why here? Why not-"

"When the sniper went after you,” he groused, slurping noisily from a cold drink that was practically empty, “Chaya sent a bunch of her lovely lackeys after us at the building. It's completely destroyed. Nothing left of it at all."

Oh, god. "Was anybody hurt?"

Rodney gulped down another swallow and fidgeted with the plastic cup in his hand. “Mostly there were cuts and bruises, two have broken legs, but there was…” his words died unspoken and Elizabeth suddenly grew fearful.

“What, Rodney?”

He dared to return her gaze. “Radek lost an eye.”

\--x--

She suspected both Carson and John would’ve had something to say about her slipping out of bed if they knew, but that didn’t stop her from climbing onto unsteady feet. Rodney generally flittered about her anxiously, arms waving and a motor-mouth a mile a minute. Truth be told, the concern wasn’t unwarranted but he subsided with one well-timed glare and then obediently led her down the hallway.

Radek was sleeping, so she only rested briefly against the doorframe of his room, looking in. His face was half-covered with gauze and something in her chest tightened painfully in response to the image. He was nearly unrecognizable under the mesh of bandages wrapped around his noggin and she pressed a hand against Rodney’s forearm – who was standing quietly beside her; too quiet for the normally verbose man.

She didn’t know how serious their relationship was – Rodney and Radek’s. She hadn’t been there during the last two years so Elizabeth had no way of knowing how their relationship began and what it was like now. But she imagined she knew both men well enough and she’d always suspected, even years ago, that there was more to them than met the eye.

“He’ll be fine,” Elizabeth promised, faintly attempting to offer comfort. “He’s strong.”

“I don’t know how to handle this,” Rodney confessed softly in return. “I’m not good with… with helping people. I don’t have that trait in me. I’m not—”

Elizabeth shook her head. “You never gave yourself enough credit.”

“Most people call me arrogant,” Rodney argued with a bite, meant more for himself than for her. “I’m not a modest person, Elizabeth. I honestly don’t know how to handle this. I don’t know what to say when he looks at me, and… and I can’t stop staring at the bandages. I try not to. I try not to make it obvious but I can’t help it and it doesn’t—”

“Shh,” she soothed, tugging him around to face her. He couldn’t maintain eye contact, and Elizabeth tried and failed to place another time when he’d looked so uncertain before. “There’s no right way to handle something like this, Rodney. You just make it through, be there for him. I have no doubt in my mind that’ll you’ll be the one to help him through this.”

“I’m not good with this stuff. I’m too impatient.”

Elizabeth adamantly disagreed. Rodney was a hard man to pin down but once you gained his loyalty, Elizabeth knew there were few things in the world that would prevent him from doing everything in his considerable power to help. He’d fumble a little, but his heart was always in the right place and that always shined through whether he wanted it to or not. He’d done that for her in a thousand small ways over the last few years, not the least of which was suffering through her identity crisis with a distinct lack of grievance.

For a man to claim he had no patience, he’d demonstrated more than his fair share of it with her.

“I beg to differ,” Elizabeth countered, bringing a hand to tug his chin and direct his gaze back to her. “You were always there for me, Rodney.”

His cheeks colored, but Elizabeth could already see him puff up with pride. “It was different with you.”

Elizabeth arched an eyebrow, challenging. “How so?”

He flittered a hand around, a gesture intended to mean nothing and everything. “You were the first person that offered me a chance to prove myself.”

She wasn’t quite sure she saw his logic, but with a shake of her head she simply replied, “Well, then, it’s time to prove yourself again, Rodney.”

\--x--

Ronon wasn’t where Rodney told her he’d be – which, honestly, didn’t surprise Elizabeth in the slightest. Before leaving her company Rodney proved unusually reticent about giving details regarding Ronon’s recovery. The bite had obviously taken its effect as he was still alive, but Elizabeth sensed there was more to the story and Rodney didn’t feel up to offering her any tidbits.

She wondered how the rest of her kin was taking the new addition; how Ronon was adjusting to the changes himself. Rumor had it that he’d been up and alert for the last three days while she’d been unconscious, and Elizabeth fretted over how the transition was going. It was jarring for a newly infected individual to adjust to the sharp changes in perception and sensation, not to mention all the internal rewiring that went on regarding instincts and animal intuition. While she had no doubt John, Rodney and the others had helped him in any way they could, she had yet to see for herself how Ronon was fairing with the changes.

She ran into Carson before she was able to seek out Ronon.

“What the bloody hell are you doing up?” he exclaimed harshly. “Does no one here understand the meaning of bed rest—”

“Carson,” she interrupted. “Stop, relax. I just wanted to see Radek, and now I’m looking for Ronon.” She quickly overrode him before he could muster another word. “I’ll go back to bed as soon as I see him.”

Carson sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping with something more than mere frustration and exhaustion. Rodney and Carson both had horrible poker faces and if she hadn’t suspected something afoot before, she knew enough now.

“What’s going on?” she tried, a little more than worried. “Is something wrong with Ronon? Did the bite not take?”

Carson rubbed his forehead like he was suddenly suffering from a debilitating headache. “Not precisely. Things are a wee bit more complicated than that.”

Elizabeth froze. “Complicated how?”

\--x--

She found Ronon in Carson’s exercise room with John, and the two had apparently converted the space for a sparring session. She was well-familiar with seeing John wield the bantos sticks in his hands, having witnessed a few of the training sessions Teyla had offered to him in instruction. And while Elizabeth normally enjoyed the sight of John like this, her gaze barely rested on him for a moment before they shifted to Ronon.

She drew a steadying breath, and quietly tried to come to terms with the vision she saw.

The thing that stood out the most was Ronon’s eyes – unnaturally blue, like frozen ice. Next, Elizabeth noticed the shocking hint of razor sharp teeth, the type of incisor she’d only seen on vampires before they feed, or in werewolves moments before they changed. His body bore other tells, too. Perhaps not in the appearance but in the way he moved. For a man that had just been turned into a werewolf he demonstrated more grace and agility – more ferocity – than even John.

Carson’s explanation played over in her head as she watched Ronon outmaneuver John.

Ronon hadn’t been a baseline human when she’d bitten him. Elizabeth remembered, vaguely, noting his curious sense of smell but other than that she'd never sensed anything paranormal about him. She’d presumed, perhaps justifiably as Ronon had intended it that way, that he’d been nothing more than a well-muscled human. The truth was he’d been just as paranormal as her, though of a different breed.

The story, as she was told by Carson, was that Chaya Sar had once tried to turn him into a vampire years ago. The attempt had failed as sometimes bites just didn’t take, but unlike usual, where those bitten died if the transformation didn’t achieve its end result… this time, something unexpected happened. The vampire bite had left its mark and Ronon had become something of a mix, a hybrid between humans and vampires. He could walk in the sun, but he suffered from the thirst like any vampire.

Chaya hadn’t liked the idea of that. Carson was sketchy on the details because he didn’t know them fully himself, but apparently Chaya thought Ronon an abomination and had taken sport in torturing him for _years._ This, Elizabeth figured, was as much of the story as she’d likely learn of Ronon’s vendetta against Chaya. She suspected the man wouldn’t divulge much more than that, but the main point didn’t waver in the slightest even if the details remained elusive.

He'd been paranormal before Elizabeth had bitten him.

She doubted they had a name for what she’d now turned Ronon into, though watching him spar with John it was blatant that it was something singular in nature. She thought back to Teyla’s words – her prophecy of the Gingerbread Man – and realized maybe they’d been interpreting it wrong. Maybe it wasn’t what Ronon _did_ that made him so special, but what he _was_. The first of his kind, a new breed of paranormal that bridged the gap between werewolves, vampires and humans.

Aloud, her only coherent response to the thought had been, “Wow.”

Carson snorted, pulling her away from her perch near the sparring room so that they could talk more privately in the corridor. “I’ve already begun a number of tests on his blood work, and it’s unveiled several previously undiscovered antibodies. They could boast extraordinary applications in the medical field.”

Elizabeth’s eyes drifted shut. “Much like Zaddik’s vampire enzyme, you mean?”

Carson hesitated for a brief pause. “About that, I think I should inform you of something… something regarding your recovery. Your treatment.”

Elizabeth’s eyes snapped open and she looked at him, almost wildly. “Tell me you didn’t,” she breathed in a plea.

Carson flinched and glanced away. “Your new friend, Cameron Mitchell, offered his blood and guided me through the filtration process.”

“He what?” Elizabeth exclaimed in shock. “Carson, are you telling me that I have vampire enzymes running through my body right now?”

He confirmed the news with a nod, and Elizabeth just stood there in stunned silence. After what Cameron had been through at the hands of Zaddik, Elizabeth was floored to learn he’d willingly offer up more of his blood. But her shock was so much more than that.

“Everybody was okay with this idea?”

“It was the only way to save you after Teyla brought you in!” Carson insisted. “I didn’t like the idea either, but you'd been shot. Desperate times called for desperate measures. Trust me, after witnessing John go through withdrawal of the enzyme, I didn’t agree to it lightly!”

“Withdrawal?” she repeated in a harsh tone.

Carson clamped his mouth shut, but he’d said enough.

Her mind spun with the revelations, remembering what John had been like under the influence of the enzyme, especially his impaired judgment. Elizabeth assessed herself and wondered if the drug was affecting her in the same way. She didn’t feel any different. A little groggy, a touch worse for wear, but she subscribed that to the side-effect of nearly dying.

“I feel fine,” she whispered more to herself than to Carson.

She frowned. John had insisted that he’d felt fine, too.

Carson grunted, annoyed. “You’re not! You nearly died. I wish everybody would stop being so bloody cavalier about their lives around here!” He sighed heavily and then, dejected, continued in a softer voice. “I’ve given you a smaller dose than what John had. I want to wean you off slowly so your systems don’t crash, hence your fatigue. I doubt you’d be suffering any ailments at all if we gave you a full dose.”

Elizabeth folded her arms across her chest, hugging herself. “How long will I have to continue the treatment?”

“A while yet,” Carson answered elusively. “You should really be in bed, Elizabeth. Your body has been through too much stress.”

She scrubbed a hand through her hair, letting a tense exhale slip between her lips as she internally conceded his words. As they passed by the sparring room again, she was acutely aware of John’s chuckle in the air and the noise warmed her from the insides, giving her a sharp wave of relief to hear the sound after so long. She realized that Ronon might make a decent addition to the pack, yet, especially if he met with John’s approval.

The only real wildcard was if Ronon would take to following orders, and only time would tell if the instinctual need for a pack would overcome the hunter’s solitary preferences.

By the time they made it back to her room, Elizabeth had enough strength to climb back into bed before her exhaustion won. Carson reapplied the IV drip, which Elizabeth now knew held the enzyme, and tucked the comforter around her like she was a child. Elizabeth flashed him a smile, watching him through half-lidded eyes, and whispered her thanks before he slipped out of the room.

She drifted asleep, only dimly awoken when John eventually rejoined her in bed an hour later, smelling of soap and water after having freshly showered. But consciousness was breached for a few seconds, so she mumbled heavily as she twisted to face him, then asked in a thick, groggy voice, “Ronon? What do you think of him?”

“I like his guns,” John offered as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “But, Gingerbread Man? Not an appropriate name for him.”

She flashed an impish smile, knowing John well enough to know that was a tacit admission of approval. Shifting closer, she settled in a more comfortable position with her head cradled near the curve of his shoulder. “Does that mean we get to keep him?” she breathed against his neck, the mate within her contented. “After all, I let you keep all the strays you brought home.”

John chuckled lightly, and that sound was more soothing than it had any right to be. “You were one of those strays,” he pointed out.

“Yeah,” she conceded as her voice twisted into flirty. “But let’s not forget you chased me, not the other way around.”

\--x--

The phone jarred Elizabeth awake with all the subtlety of sledgehammer, and she lifted her head with a groan to watch John fumble for the offending noise. When he answered it, Elizabeth rested back against the mattress, eyes drifting shut as the pale specter of exhaustion threatened to overwhelm her again. If this was what it was like with the enzyme, Elizabeth hated to entertain what it would have been like without it.

Road-kill was an apt description for what she felt.

John’s conversation drifted in one ear and out the other, and it was only when he pulled away from her that she latched onto his voice. “How long?” he asked, as he sat up. “Okay. If we have to do this tonight, then we have to do this tonight. You just take care of the vampires. I’ll call Caldwell and get him up to speed.”

With the mention of her boss – former boss – Elizabeth sat up quickly, all traces of sleep banished from her mind. The tense set of John’s shoulders as he finished the conversation unnerved her, and she waited until he twisted in his seat to face her before she asked, “What’s going on?”

“Teyla,” he explained as he hung up. “Zaddik’s still in that cave of his, inside the mirror. He’s stayed there since we escaped, but Teyla thinks he’s been amassing more Jaffa as guards. He might be making a move towards another alternate reality soon if we don’t do something to stop it. We’re raiding the cavern tonight.”

Elizabeth stiffened. “Half the pack is still recovering from the—”

“We’ve got no choice,” John argued, rising swiftly. “We’ve got half the pack, and between Michael and Cameron and their men, that’s a hefty dose of vampires on our side. Not to mention Caldwell can get us five, maybe six guys from the force.”

Elizabeth swallowed thickly. “Caldwell agreed to help?”

John threw her a bewildering look. “Why wouldn’t he?”

“Because…”

“Because what?” John asked distractedly as he knelt to search under the bed. “You see my shoes anywhere?”

Elizabeth ignored him, coming to the stark epiphany that he didn't know she’d been fired. The realization settled heavy on her shoulders and Elizabeth wasn’t sure what to do with the information, or what it meant.

To John, she simply said, “They’re all coming over here, first?”

“We’ll regroup and talk strategies first,” John affirmed. “They’ll be here soon. You wanna talk to Caldwell for me?" He didn’t pause for an answer, finally coming up with his sneakers with a triumphant exclamation. “Aha!”

“John—”

“Tell him that we need as many men as he can get, would ya? And guns. We could always use more guns, even with Ronon’s supply already.”

She nodded numbly and watched him retreat to the bathroom to freshen up, and her gaze shifted to the phone again. The last conversation she’d had with Caldwell had been… unpleasant, to say the least, so it wasn’t surprising that Elizabeth found the thought of another tête-à-tête with him a little daunting. Swallowing against the tide of anxiety, she reached for the phone and dialed his office number.

He answered on the third ring. “Caldwell, here.”

“Captain,” she began, “It’s Elizabeth.”

There was a long pause on the other end, long enough for Elizabeth to even wonder if their connection had been cut. But then his voice came through, sounding almost as tongue-tied as she felt, “I didn’t… I didn’t know you’d woken up.”

Elizabeth scrubbed her free hand through tangled curls, and cleared her throat. “I woke up only recently,” she offered. “I’ve been better but Carson feels confident in a full recovery.”

“I’m…” Caldwell began, almost stammering. “It’s… good. That you’re awake. There was… about Sumner,” he sighed heavily and tried again. “His funeral was yesterday. We had no way of knowing when you were going to wake up… and we decided to go ahead with the procession. I gave the flag to his ex-wife.”

Elizabeth froze, entirely thrown by the news.

She hadn’t given any thought whatsoever to Sumner’s funeral, but now that she did she felt a distinct bereavement at not being able to attend. His ex-wife was a nice woman but their marriage had ended bitterly years ago, mostly due to the fact that Sumner spent more time and effort on his job than he ever gave to his marriage. The Honor Guard should have never handed the flag to her; it should have gone to Elizabeth. Elizabeth was his partner – his significant other, even, as much as the term applied to their platonic relationship.

A fierce rush of anger and resentment coursed through her, surprising Elizabeth with its ferocity.

“I’m sorry,” Caldwell offered in contrition a moment later. “I know how much it would have meant to you, but I made a judgment call—”

“It’s alright,” Elizabeth stopped him, swallowing the bitterness back. “You did what you had to do.”

Silence settled, thick and heavy and Elizabeth took a second to regroup. She wondered if it was her imagination playing tricks on her or if Caldwell really sounded… sympathetic, almost, to her? For a man that had thrown Elizabeth out of his office days ago, the now quiet nature of his voice was jarring in comparison and she didn’t know what to make of it.

“Tonight,” she eventually recovered, getting back on track. “The pack is going to raid Zaddik’s place tonight, with the vampires. We could use…” she sighed heavily, “I know I don’t have any right to ask it, but I could use your help, Steven.”

There was another pause but then, for once, his voice came back steady and calm, “We’ll be there in an hour.”

\--x--

Caldwell was the first to arrive, but soon five cops followed in his wake: Bates, Grodin, Peterson, Hays, and Biro. Elizabeth greeted them at the door, fighting off her debilitating exhaustion with two cups of coffee that actually did very little to help. But she was determined to stay standing on her feet, outright ignoring Carson’s protests and John’s thinly veiled looks of concern.

She led the detectives back to Carson’s living room, which was by no means a small place but the sheer number of people assembling there made the space look cramped and little. Her pack stood at one end and the cops at the other, and Elizabeth quickly made introductions for all. Ronon emerged from the back room, and as soon as her gaze caught on his, Elizabeth separated from the crowd and excused them both. She pulled him through the veranda doors outside, where the day was growing dark as the sun set. She stood across from him on Carson’s patio-deck, losing her train of thought for a split second as she stared at his unnaturally blue eyes.

She cleared her throat and began, “We have to talk—”

Ronon cut her off. “Now? We’ve got more important things to deal with.”

Elizabeth folded her arms over her chest. “I bit you, turned you into… something we don’t even have a name for. I think that garners a brief chit-chat, yes.”

“You did what you had to do,” Ronon grunted. “I was pissed at first, especially when I woke up. I’ve cooled down since then.”

Elizabeth froze, caught off-guard with how matter-of-factly he was dealing with this. “So you’re not angry that I bit you without your permission?”

“The way I understand it went down? I was unconscious and dying You didn’t exactly have my undivided attention to ask ‘may I?’ Right?”

Elizabeth opened her mouth then clamped it shut, at a temporary loss for words. Of all the ways she’d imagined this conversation going, she hadn’t expected him to be so… obliging.

“Okay,” she breathed awkwardly, “I’m… glad we had this conversation?” He grunted, and made a move to walk passed her but Elizabeth just couldn’t let it go like this, not this… _easily_. She stopped him with a firm grip over his forearm, and waited until his gaze held hers. “I’m not sorry. I’m glad you’re not upset, but I didn’t come here with the intention of apologizing.”

He raised an eyebrow, and asked with clear skepticism, “You didn’t?”

Before – a month ago, before all this mess had been laid out at her feet, even a few days ago – Elizabeth knew that was exactly what she would have done. She would have profusely apologized to Ronon, wracked with guilt over her actions at not only turning him, but doing so without his consent. But there came a time where enough was enough.

Elizabeth was getting tired of second-guessing herself over every decision.

“I didn’t,” she confirmed with a nod, releasing her hold on him as she stepped back. “If the decision came up again? I would have followed my instincts and done it the same exact way. I… I wanted you to know that.”

Ronon tilted his head a little, examining her like something he found curious and couldn’t figure out. “What about your control? Your logic?” he parodied their earlier conversation back to her. “I thought you were all about that?”

Elizabeth straightened a little, then glanced behind him at the clear glass doors that separated the patio from the main house. She spotted John emerge from the hallway into the living room, greeting the rest of the men and women present before he spread out a bunch of papers – blueprints, it looked like – onto the dining room table. Carson emerged from the other hallway with Teyla, Cameron, Michael, and a dozen other vampires trailing behind him.

As she gazed at the large group gathering, and the others who still continued to gather, a strange feeling over swept her. It was a sensation she hadn’t experienced in some time because to experience it and to have it torn away again would have cut Elizabeth to the core. Most of those individuals were people she was proud to know and stand beside. Most of those people, she would die for. That was what really mattered: her people, not some rigid set of rules meant to lock and leash the animal inside her. Somewhere along the last two years, wrapped up in her guilt, Elizabeth had lost sight of that.

She lifted her head, tossing a sideways glance at the looming figure of Ronon. “Life isn’t about that. Not for me. Not anymore.”

Ronon arched an eyebrow, and said, “Huh. Maybe there’s hope for you yet.”

She decidedly resolved to take that as a compliment instead of an insult.

When they reentered the living room, the group gathered inside stared pointedly at them. It quickly became apparent that the object of their fascination was exclusively Ronon, especially the unnatural set of blue eyes and the razor sharp teeth. Ronon merely bared his teeth in a grin, a subtle threat hidden in the gesture that she knew was meant for the vampires in the room.

Tension in the air ratcheted up a notch.

Elizabeth shared a look with John, and drew the attention back to where it belonged. “What have we decided so far?”

John folded his arms across his chest. “We’re going over the blueprints Mitchell drew up.”

Her gaze shifted to Cameron, latching on with a hint of surprise to find him shockingly unlike the last time she’d seen him. He was freshly groomed now with a short-cropped haircut and a nice tailored coat. He looked… _different_ , she decided diplomatically. He nodded to her, and Elizabeth’s hand unconsciously fell to her right forearm, across the spot where he’d bitten her. She nodded back, retreating quickly to secure the spot beside John.

The blueprints looked like a maze to her, and Elizabeth realized that Jennifer’s gift of omnipotent awareness over the cavern, and the larger military structure it was encased inside, was nothing but a diminishing memory. Elizabeth suspected there were a few things off about Cameron’s blueprints, but she couldn’t identify any specifics.

“We’ve got enough ammunition for everybody thanks to Ronon,” John began, “But these are silver hollow points filled with liquefied garlic. They hurt us more than they hurt them, so to state the rather obvious,” John offered a wry grin, “don’t go shooting each other.”

“We’ve got tac vests and radios,” Caldwell added, “but it won’t be enough for everybody here.”

John paused briefly. “That’s alright. Not everybody is going along. We need a few guys to stay behind and protect those here. The wounded,” he clarified.

Elizabeth slanted him a look but John was steadily avoiding her gaze. She knew, then, without a single indication what he was thinking. He expected Elizabeth not to go along, and as much as she hated to admit it, he had grounds for the call. Under fire, she was fatigued enough to pose an inconvenience to those around her, but what John underestimated was her strength of will this time around.

This was her fight more than anybody else’s. She wasn’t going to sit on the sidelines, not on this one. She’d take another hit of the enzyme, or do something else to help with the fatigue. Maybe Teyla knew a spell? Anything to ensure she could face off against Zaddik and end this the way she’d promised Jennifer. Cleanly, once and for all.

The group disbanded into smaller clusters, and Elizabeth brushed passed John with quiet words. “We need to talk.”

He sighed heavily, knowingly. “I’ll be in the kitchen in five minutes. Let me take care of something first?”

A second ticked by, and she agreed with a nod. Teyla came up beside her, and with one brief look exchanged, Elizabeth realized there was something on Teyla’s mind that obviously needed sharing. Teyla gestured towards the kitchen pointedly, then left quickly. Elizabeth tossed a glance back at John, and followed reluctantly.

“I wanted to see how you were,” Teyla began as she brushed a strand of hair away from her face. “How you are recouping?”

Elizabeth offered a shrug, then took a chair at the end of the kitchen table. “I’m not dead, thanks to you.”

Teyla’s lips thinned into a line. “I wish we could say that meant my vision has been averted, but…”

The words were left hanging in the air, the message behind it clear, distinct and _haunting_ in a way that only made sense to the two of them. Neither wanted to give the thought another voice, though. They’d spent enough time already arguing the gritty details of her vision.

Instead, they spent a few minutes talking as Elizabeth explained the enzyme treatment Carson had started her on, but there was something off about the conversation. Teyla was dressed like she always was – trendy, with a simple low-cut black tee and form fitting jeans, but the way she held herself tonight was different than normal. Elizabeth couldn’t put a finger on it, but Teyla seemed almost… jittery, uncomfortable even. More than once, Elizabeth glanced over to find the other woman a little lost in her own world, clearly split in her focus.

Elizabeth tilted her head to the side, curiously, and finished, “So Carson thinks as long as he weans me off the enzyme slowly, they’re shouldn’t be too harsh of a withdrawal.” She paused, and tested Teyla’s attention by adding, “Worst case scenario is… you know, my head falls off and they have to duct tape it back on. Carson says he could manage to do it fairly easily, no surgery necessary.”

Elizabeth waited a beat for a response, any response, but Teyla merely stared blankly, then blinked when she finally noticed Elizabeth had stopped talking.

“What?” Teyla murmured in confusion. “What was that about surgery?”

Elizabeth rolled her eyes. “Teyla, is there something on your mind you wish to share with the rest of the class?”

Teyla glanced away, and Elizabeth was once again struck by how anxious she was acting. Teyla was usually so calm and still, and the obvious nervousness was rather disconcerting. Elizabeth patted the seat next to her, and when Teyla obligingly slipped into the chair, there was a small pause before she met Elizabeth’s eyes.

“I am with child, Elizabeth.”

The declaration left her speechless for a good five seconds.

“Elizabeth?” Teyla tried, then rolled her eyes in exasperation. “Please, say something.”

Elizabeth blinked, snapping out of her stunned silence. “Wow. That was… not what I was expecting you to say at all.”

“What were you expecting me to say?”

“I don’t know,” Elizabeth floundered a little. “Something about death, or danger, or a vision of the apocalypse, maybe? You know, the usual?”

Teyla sighed heavily. “If only.”

Elizabeth was a little hesitant to broach the topic, but Teyla was obviously looking for a sympathetic ear. “Who’s the father?” The look that dawned on Teyla’s face told her everything she needed to know. Elizabeth took a deep breath, trying to keep her voice even. “Michael? I thought he was your ex?”

“He is. He was,” Teyla faltered, “Or he… it was just one misstep and… Goddess help me, I have lived to be nearly two hundred years old, and I have never felt a fear like _this_ before.”

Elizabeth could hardly imagine. As far as she’d been aware, vampires rarely if ever produced offspring, and only then when there was something paranormal about the mother as well. While, yes, Teyla was as a paranormal as they came, it was still a singularity for them to have conceived a child. Elizabeth had only heard of one or two other examples of vampire progeny her entire life.

Elizabeth leaned forward to press a hand over Teyla’s. “Are you… is this what you want?”

Teyla met her eyes hesitantly. “I think,” she replied in a soft voice. “I do not really know.”

“You’ll figure it out, Teyla. You always do.” She offered a confident smile. “You’ll be fine.”

Teyla frowned. “And meanwhile, we must prepare to raid Zaddik’s place.”

Elizabeth stiffened, not having thought that far along yet. “Oh god, you’re not going into battle in your condition—”

“I am,” Teyla cut in. “There is no way that the others will be able to handle a mage of Zaddik’s caliber without me.”

“It isn’t safe—”

“There is no choice,” Teyla stopped her with decisiveness lacing her words. “Magic must be used to fight magic.”

Elizabeth sealed her lips into a thin line, uncomfortable with the decision. But in the end, it was Teyla’s decision to make and one look at the Wiccan and it was obvious that she’d already resolved the matter with finality.

Elizabeth settled back in her chair, and licked her lips uneasily. “Have you told Michael?”

“No,” Teyla admitted. “You’re the first person I told.”

It was obvious Teyla was looking for comfort. “You’re going to be fine,” Elizabeth said again, with confidence she didn’t have. “I know it, Teyla.”

“I just pray that there isn’t—”

“Elizabeth,” John’s voice entered into the fray, walking in from the living room. “I know— oh, hey, Teyla.” He stopped short, and glanced from one to another. “Am I interrupting something?”

Teyla smiled serenely as she rose; all cool, calm and collected again with barely a blink of an eye in the transition. Elizabeth belatedly recognized that she’d just witnessed a rare sight. Teyla had just possibly shown her most vulnerable side to her, and Elizabeth felt appropriately humbled by that privilege.

“Nothing, John.” Teyla paused and spared Elizabeth a quiet look. “Nothing at all.”

The message was received loud and clear. Teyla didn’t want anyone to know about her pregnancy. Lord knew John would probably take the news with all the finesse of a bull in a china-shop. Elizabeth nodded demurely and watched Teyla leave the room, still reeling from the news. She turned to face John and realized she wasn’t going to get a moment’s rest to digest the information.

“I know what you’re thinking,” John began.

Elizabeth highly doubted it. “Look, John—”

“You’re still recovering from the bullet wound,” John cut in before she got any further. “You’re weak, disoriented, and your judgment is impaired by the enzyme. You’re staying back here with Radek and the other wounded.”

Elizabeth’s hackles rose as she stood. “You don’t get to make that decision for me, John.”

“Yes,” he insisted firmly, “I do.”

Well, this was off to a marvelous start.

Elizabeth opened her mouth to deliver a stinging retort, but the entire thing sent a wave of déjà vu over her. This was the same fight they always had. John, overprotective; Elizabeth, resistant; and both of them too stubborn to see eye-to-eye on anything. She’d hoped they’d gotten over that stage of their relationship but it seemed it had been too hopeful.

God, she really didn’t want to fight with him. Especially not now.

She took a steadying breath and quelled the barbed retort on her lips. “I need to be there, John. This is my fight.”

“You’re not strong enough. You’re going to get hurt. Or worse.”

“John—”

He jerked away from her and barked angrily, “No, Elizabeth. You’re not going to convince me otherwise. You’re too weak, and nothing but a liability if you come along.”

The words felt like a slap across the face, and Elizabeth recoiled. “Liability?”

“The others agree,” John added, like salt on the wound. “It’s too dangerous to take somebody in your condition along. We have to keep focused.”

She swallowed thickly, overwhelmed with a rush of anger and a stinging bite of rejection. “You’ve talked with the others about this? What? Behind my back?”

“It’s for the best,” he replied, but his rough voice broke a little at the end and he couldn’t maintain eye-contact. “You’re not coming along, Elizabeth.”

Her jaw clenched. “You have no right to make that decision for me.”

“Maybe,” John conceded, then his gaze hardened again. “But if it keeps you alive, I don’t care. You didn’t see – you couldn’t know – what it was like for me to see you after you’d been shot. To watch you almost die! I’m not letting that happen again. Not for anything.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath. “It’s not—”

John pressed on, “I don’t even care if you hate me for this. You’ll still be safe.”

Elizabeth realized then how desperately he wanted her to stay out of danger. He clearly understood how she would react to this collusion with the others – that their _entire_ relationship rested in the balance – and yet he did it anyway. If she wasn’t reeling from resentment at his audacity to treat her like this, like she was incapable of taking care of herself, Elizabeth might have found the trait to protect her endearing. Except she couldn’t get over the choking taste of patronization, and in the end, they were right back where they were two years ago: two lovers that couldn’t agree on anything, and John still didn’t understand that sometimes Elizabeth had to handle her fights for her own sake, even if they left her wounded in the process.

If Teyla could go riding into danger while pregnant, then Elizabeth could certainly do the same while she was a little fatigued. A spell, the enzyme, something would help with her exhaustion. But there was no way she was being left behind while the others headed into peril. Zaddik was her fight, as personal as it came, and she’d made a promise to Jennifer Keller.

They went without Elizabeth over her dead body.

“Don’t do this,” Elizabeth said, her eyes blazing. “I can’t be in a relationship with a man that doesn’t trust me to take care of myself.”

John clenched his jaw, and waited a beat. “I love you, Elizabeth. That’s exactly why I’m doing this.”

She never noticed Ronon sneak up behind her with a stunner until it was too late. A jolt of electricity worked through her spine, flooding her body, and Elizabeth collapsed, quickly fading into darkness.

\--x--


	11. Chapter 11

\--x--

She awoke several hours later, locked securely in Carson’s large bedroom with magic wards in place. After shouting for answers, Sgt. Bates identified himself on the other side of her locked door, informing her of the new arrangements. He’d been given the task of guarding the injured while the others were away.

“Let me out!"

Bates’ voice drifted through the door, “I’m sorry, ma’am, but I’ve got orders.”

“I’m giving you new ones, now the open the door!”

But it was futile to argue with Bates as the man was a stickler when it came to protocol. If Caldwell had given him orders, he’d follow it to a T and there was little Elizabeth could do to persuade him otherwise. It became obvious to conclude that Carson, Radek and two other injured kin members were also meandering through the house, though she doubted they were confined like her. She suspected she heard Laura’s voice too, drifting over the noise of pattering feet moving over the floorboards above on the second floor.

Elizabeth didn’t scream; didn’t fight; didn’t turn ugly, though the urge was there. She knew everybody else was only following orders and her main target of frustration was singular in nature. God, she couldn’t believe John had done this to her. A moment after the thought arose, she discarded it. Elizabeth had no trouble whatsoever believing John would do this to her. He was protective to a damn fault.

She settled in for the long haul, waiting for word from the others. Seconds seemed to last hours, and the silence in her bedroom was suffocating and choking. Elizabeth expelled the energy the only way she could: pacing back and forth, back and forth, knowing there was very little else she could do. Fully cognizant of the fact that the others were probably in the midst of battle, fighting Zaddik's men that parallel reality, the anxiety swelled.

But then something prickled the back of her neck – that eerie sixth sense of being watched by someone she hadn’t yet detected – and Elizabeth turned around to study the view outside Carson’s window.

She found Chaya Sar smiling smugly at her, a hand raised in an arrogant little wave hello.

Elizabeth recoiled, adrenaline kicked into overdrive as she braced herself for an assault. But Chaya remained nimbly perched on the edge of Carson’s large oak tree, like a perverse envisioning of _Romeo and Juliet_. Elizabeth stared for a beat before she realized why Chaya wasn’t even attempting to break in and attack.

The magical wards surrounding the house, she realized.

Chaya gestured for Elizabeth to come closer, calmly staring at her with a look of expectancy and boredom etched on that porcelain face of hers. Suppressing a rush of goose bumps, Elizabeth calmly approached the window and lifted the glass, opening it up to fresh air.

“Detective Weir,” Chaya greeted with a haughty smile. “I have to say I’m a little disappointed to see you stay behind like a mother hen while your boys are out fighting the… what would you call it? The good fight? Something pedestrian like that?”

Elizabeth stiffened, conversely eager for news and then distrustful of any from a source like Chaya. She kept her voice cool and collected, “What do you want, Chaya?”

“You,” Chaya proposed, tilting her head aside to assess Elizabeth. Her gaze wandered up and down Elizabeth’s body, almost as if she was checking Elizabeth out, but when her eyes reached back to Elizabeth’s eyes, there was a quiet bout of amusement in them. Chaya was laughing at her. “Zaddik wants your attendance in that pathetic little siege your men are attempting. He’s greatly amused by their efforts to infiltrate his facility, but he’s growing a little… tired? Bored? You know, of all the mindless killing he’s had to do.”

Elizabeth knew without a shadow of a doubt that she couldn’t believe a word that came out of Chaya’s mouth. The treacherous vampire was simply trying to goad her. But that didn’t and couldn’t stop the leap of alarm that surged through Elizabeth’s body.

To Chaya, Elizabeth only crossed her arms and said, “Zaddik isn’t the type to grow tired of mindless killing, which means you’re exaggerating the truth. Which means Zaddik’s bit off more than he can chew this time.”

Chaya’s eyes grew dark, flashing yellow in warning. “The only one that’s playing outside his league is your boyfriend, detective. Zaddik’s already captured him and is holding him hostage, waiting for you.”

 _Don’t believe her._

“I highly doubt that,” Elizabeth volleyed back coolly. “John’s too good at what he does. Your games won’t work with me, Chaya.”

“Your men are dying. But no matter, Zaddik doesn’t want any of them. He always only wanted you.” She offered Elizabeth an impish smile as she leaned back in her tree, resting comfortably against a branch with a poise that wouldn’t have looked out of place in a _Playboy_ magazine. “How can I convince you of this? Oh, wait, I know.”

A foreboding chill worked up Elizabeth’s spine as Chaya reached inside her pocket to emerge with something. It was a small circular disk, almost the size of a coin, but when Chaya pressed on the center, there was a flash of light and a holographic image materialized from the base and hovered a few inches above the metal. The image was of John, bound and gagged, being tortured, and the lurch in Elizabeth’s stomach was entirely involuntary and instinctual.

“Zaddik wants you,” Chaya repeated. “Or Sheppard, the pretty thing, dies along with the rest of your people.”

\--x--

Once Chaya left, Elizabeth knew there was nothing to be done but make her move. Elizabeth set her aim on formulating a quick game plan. She swiftly pounded on her bedroom door, demanding attention from those in the house. The mention of Chaya Sar garnered a speedier response than anything else Elizabeth had to offer, and the next thing she knew Bates and Laura had swung open the door in alarm, searching for the threat.

Elizabeth brushed passed them both. “She’s already gone,” she informed as she strode down the hallway. “And left a message.”

Behind her, Carson and a few others emerged from their rooms, drawn to the hallway by all the commotion. She never broke stride, leading the pack back down the stairs and to the living room where the blueprints of Zaddik’s facility were still laid out over the table.

“No, Elizabeth,” Carson pleaded when he found her studying them. “You cannot go in there! You’re too weak—”

“If I don’t, the others die!”

Radek stepped forward; face half covered with bandages, but even the sight of it wasn’t enough to make Elizabeth falter for more than a second. “If you go, you all die!” he insisted. “Think, Elizabeth.”

“Aye, that enzyme in you is clouding your judgment!” Carson added. “You’d never fall for something like this otherwise.”

There was a part of Elizabeth that realized a hint of truth in Carson’s words.

The thought was quickly overridden. She _felt_ fine, clearheaded and determined now in a way she couldn’t define. Whirling to the group gathered before her, she persisted. “If we don’t do something now, they could all die. Do you want to live with that on your conscience?” she whirled to Radek, “Do you want to live with Rodney’s death on your head when we could have _done_ something to stop it?”

Laura's eyes flashed. "Don't! Don't guilt trip anyone here. Don't try to spread the misery of your pity-parade."

Elizabeth stared, knowing they all had as much to lose as her on this one: the pack; the group of cops with them; Cameron and Michael who she was coming to see as allies and even friends almost despite herself. Elizabeth met the collective stares of growing anxiety, lingering the longest on the stubborn skepticism on Laura. Elizabeth shoved down the uncertainty and fear because it wasn’t about John, or any _one_ of them. It was about all of them, the group as a whole.

Lifting her chin, Elizabeth drew a deep breath. “I need you on this. I can’t do this alone.”

Laura paused for a beat. "I only stick my neck out for my pack."

"I am part of the pack."

"Since when?" Laura demanded. "You don't just get to come and go as you please. You're either one of us for life, or you're not. Which one is it?"

Bates rolled his eyes as he stepped forward. "We're losing focus here."

"Aye, we all need to calm down and-"

Elizabeth shook her head. "We need to get coordinated."

“For what?” Bates demanded. “To go on a rescue mission with the group of us? They took over three dozen men with them, and if they can’t handle infiltrating Zaddik’s facility, what chance do _we_ have?”

His point was a valid one, and she let out a frustrated sigh. Among their meager group were herself, Laura, Grodin, Carson, a handicapped Radek with one-eye, and two other pack members too injured to come along. It was hardly the ideal group to mount a rescue mission for an assembly of paranormal people six times their number.

But the Alpha female rose to the surface. “Their plan to infiltrate Zaddik’s facility is failing. They won’t make it. We have to do something. I wish I could tell you that they’ll defeat Zaddik on their own. I can't promise you that one way or another. Maybe Chaya’s lying? Maybe she isn’t? I can tell you this: up till now, we’ve always been our strongest as a group, as a pack,” she turned to Laura, adding, “This isn't about me. This is about all of us.”

Maybe this was crazy and irrational to attempt, but that was her choice. But it wasn’t fair to demand anyone else to be willing to sacrifice the same.

“I’ll leave the choice to you,” Elizabeth finished. “We’ll put it to a vote. All those in favor of going, say aye.”

\--x--

The group arrived at Zaddik’s place to find the house in shambles. There were several dead vampires littered on the floor, two with stakes through their heart and a third riddled with silver bullets and then beheaded. John and the others must have taken out these guards before going through the mirror.

“Why is he beheaded?” Bates asked as he nudged the body with the toe of his boot. “Isn’t that… excuse the expression, overkill?”

Laura explained, “Silver bullets only incapacitate vampires. To kill ‘em, you gotta behead or stake ‘em through the heart. Or set them on fire.”

“Right,” Carson muttered in irritation, tossing Elizabeth a pointed look. “Silver bullets only kill werewolves.”

She ignored the reminder and wandered down to the poorly lit basement where the mirror stood, and affixed to the ornate border was a small yellow sticky-note that looked jarringly out of place. Elizabeth read the message sprawled across.

Welcome Detective Weir,  
I’m glad you decided to join us after all.   
Zaddik’s waiting for you on the 28th level, with your boyfriend.   
Hugs and kisses,  
Chaya Sar 

Elizabeth moved away and glanced solemnly to Carson. “I think it’s time you gave me that next enzyme injection,” she said with a sigh. “And make it a big one.” She could tell Carson wanted to protest; his mouth even opened but she gave him a pointed, pleading look. “Carson, please.”

He sighed heavily, and within moments there was the sharp jab of a needle pressing into her skin, and then Carson depressed the plunger.

At first, she didn’t feel any different but then the change swiftly came like a rush of adrenaline – only _better._ She hadn’t felt the effects like this before. Thus far, her only exposure to the enzyme had been through a steady IV drip but taking a full syringe dose was like getting a kick to her entire nervous system. A warm high spread through her body and Elizabeth stumbled back a little, caught off guard by the almost giddy-stimulation.

Carson caught her around one arm and steadied her, eyeing with undisguised alarm. “Are you alright? Did I give you too much—”

“No, no,” she protested quickly, blinking into focus as the first wave of the rush passed. In its wake, she felt strong, confident, and entirely invigorated. “It’s perfect,” she breathed in awe. The others threw dubious glances at one another, and Elizabeth caught on and quickly straightened, trying to regain a bit of her composure. “I mean… it’s fine. I’m fine. Let’s do this.”

After a pause, the others joined her in front of the mirror and when Elizabeth gazed through the surface, she found the cavern on the other side empty and vacant. She withdrew the radio earpiece and slipped it behind an ear, praying it’d work well to communicate with the others on the other side of that mirror.

“Ready?

Laura gestured to her. “When you are.”

She was the first to reach out and touch the mirror.

\--x--

The thing she hadn’t been expecting, and really, couldn't have known, was that Jennifer’s gift of omnipotent awareness would return as soon as Elizabeth stepped foot back through the mirror.

It hit her like a ton of bricks, knocking the wind right out of her in that first second after displacing to the cavern. Carson was a few seconds behind her through the mirror, and when he saw her on the floor, he cursed and helped her up. She wasn’t paying attention, unable to manage much of a response when the others walked through the mirror and voiced similar shocks.

“I’m alright, I’m alright,” Elizabeth protested in a thick voice, and then used every ounce of her energy to climb onto unsteady feet. Radek was beside her, supporting her frame as she tried to remember just exactly how she’d managed to command the influx of information the last time. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

As each second ticked by, her awareness of every movement within the facility by every individual grew, and the word that kept popping into her mind was chaos. Except every time it did, Elizabeth found herself taking back the word immediately. This wasn’t chaos, far from it. Simply because it was difficult for her senses to comprehend and decipher the sheer amount of _everything_ happening at the same time did not mean it was anarchy. Instead, she knew, it all went down with an order that steadily revealed itself. Her visions eased into a gentle current and Elizabeth managed to regain command over her powers.

Like riding a bike, she mused.

Elizabeth shared a single sidelong glance with the group beside her. “I can see everything again,” she informed them. “My vision… I see everybody in the facility.”

Clarity lanced through and through as Elizabeth tracked the movements of Cameron and his group of six vampires fighting off a larger group of Jaffa in subsection eight. Two levels above them, Caldwell was struggling with his men against a similar number of Chaya’s vampires. Michael was on sublevel 27, flanked by two of his men as the group steadily cut down a cluster of Jaffa.

Relief flooded her as she found John, Rodney, Teyla and Ronon in the power grid on sublevel 25. John wasn’t bound or gagged – not even injured like it’d shown him in that hologram – and Elizabeth realized her worst fears were for naught. Chaya had lied to her. He wasn’t a prisoner of Zaddik’s. That had been nothing but a ruse. She took a steadying breath and let the thick, damp air coat her lungs. Luring her here was going to turn out to be a fatal mistake for Chaya.

The small winding tunnel in the back of the cave led down a familiar pathway and Elizabeth guided her group as they twisted through the rough corridor. As she drew confidence from the knowledge that her people were still alive and kicking, she took assessment of the situation. All of her people were facing odds nearly twice their number. She counted nearly sixty Jaffa in total, and a dozen more unknown vampires that she presumed were Chaya’s lackeys. Zaddik had home field advantage to boot.

Elizabeth decided she was about to even the odds a little.

“Laura,” she spoke quickly, knowingly. “There’s three Jaffa waiting for us around the corner, near the bend. Take Bates and Radek, and take care of the vamps. Then go twenty meters ahead and to the left, use the hatch at the end of the hallway to climb down three levels. You’ll find Caldwell and the others there. They need your help. Listen for my instructions over the radio.”

Laura paused.

“Do it,” Elizabeth ordered.

Laura left without another word, but she could feel the weight of misgivings from the other men present. Elizabeth ignored them.

She reached Caldwell over the radio. “Sir, this is Elizabeth. Bates and two of my pack members are headed in your direction. You’ve got a group of vampires that are trying to cut off your path from behind. Be advised, you’re headed into a trap.”

She ignored the startled reply from Caldwell, demanding to know where she’d come from or how she knew this information. There were too many sensations, and she didn’t have time for soothing anxiety away.

There was a small part of her that was a little alarmed at the potency of her feelings, at the confidence that bordered on arrogance, but mostly Elizabeth yielded to the weight of her power. With the knowledge coursing through her mind and the enzyme coursing through her body, Elizabeth was starting to feel better than fine. Alone, either one of those gifts might have made Elizabeth feel reassured in her abilities but combined they left her with a sense of imbibed power. It wasn’t just knowledge and a potency of strength. It was an all-inclusive sense of absolute power. She felt formidable… unstoppable.

Elizabeth felt _invincible_ in that moment.

Left in the company of Carson, Elizabeth turned in the opposite direction and followed the tunnel’s winding pathway.

Carson rushed to keep up with her. “Ah, Elizabeth, where are we going? It would be best if I knew, too.”

She ignored him as her attention suddenly shifted to something else. Tapping her earpiece, Elizabeth spoke quickly, “John, this is Elizabeth, come in.”

There was a moment of static, and in her mind’s eye, she saw John stiffen in the middle of the metallic power grid before he answered back over her radio piece. “Elizabeth?!” he exclaimed, then cursed under his breath. “What the hell are you doing—”

“Two Jaffa!” she interrupted. “Behind you in the corner.”

John whirled around, just in time to fire off rounds at the guard that had been sneaking up behind him. Ronon and others reacted a moment later, slaying the remaining Jaffa quickly. The bodies dropped to the ground and Elizabeth saw John scope the entire infirmary before he returned his attention to his radio earpiece. “How did you know that—”

“I can see everything again,” Elizabeth responded, and knew the message would be delivered loud and clear. “You’ve got two vampires near you in section seven.”

“Section seven?” he repeated, bewildered.

“Twenty meters to your left,” Elizabeth instructed sharply. “Do what I say and I’ll guide you safely.”

“Elizabeth?” Teyla’s voice entered into the fray, worriedly. In her mind’s eye, Elizabeth watched Teyla glance up at the ceiling of the power grid room, seemingly aware that Elizabeth was looking down on her from it. “You are wielding Jennifer’s magic again, aren’t you? You should be careful with the amount of control you give to it.”

“Trust me,” Elizabeth replied. “I can help this go smoother.” She shifted attention again. “Rodney, to disable the power grid, you need to reach the console at the backend of the room, in the corner.”

She could see Rodney’s hackles rise. “I knew that! I was just about to—”

Elizabeth cut him off, giving him new commands but her attention was already splintering a dozen different ways. Elizabeth and Carson came to end of the curved tunnel, near the corner she knew held a secret hatch. She ran her fingers along the rough texture of the wall, and found that small hitch in the consistency – a button. Pressing it, the wall on the other side slid apart with a whoosh to reveal another section that was wholly unlike their cavern. A military facility rested in front of them, with a long colorless corridor that stretched on for another forty-seven meters before it dead-ended in elevators.

“Ronon?” she contacted him. “I’ve got a present for you.”

She could sense his hesitation even over the radio. “What?”

“Three levels below you, the infirmary,” she answered candidly. “Chaya Sar is there.”

There was a moment of pause and then Ronon lifted his head, staring up at the ceiling as Elizabeth stared down at him. Then he bared his teeth in a feral grin that signaled his gratitude.

“Detective Weir,” a voice came over the intercom, stopping everyone in their tracks. “I really can’t say I appreciate your meddling.”

In her mind, she tracked Zaddik to some type of Observation Room in sublevel 28, where a series of monitors affixed to the wall gave him a wide view of several sections of the facility. Nothing like her panoramic awareness but it was clearly enough to spy on her. Elizabeth tipped her head up towards the nearest surveillance camera fastened to the corner of the hallway, knowing Zaddik was watching her with an arrogant smile plastered on his face.

“It’s seems rather obvious that you’ve been gifted a nice little talent,” Zaddik continued, “A gift from the little witch, perhaps?”

He was thinking of the wrong witch. Jennifer, not Teyla.

“What do you want, Zaddik?”

“Right now,” Zaddik answered back over the intercom. “I want your attention to turn towards Sublevel 21, section 3. I, too, have a gift for you.”

The sector he spoke of was currently occupied by Caldwell and two other detectives, and wandering alone in the room next to them was Peter Grodin. Upon hearing the announcement over the intercom, all four men stopped what they were doing and glanced up. A foreboding chill worked up Elizabeth’s spine and, suddenly, she knew where Zaddik was headed before anyone else caught on. She was intimately familiar with how his mind worked.

“No,” Elizabeth breathed, “Zaddik, don’t—”

The explosion rocked the entire facility, shaking the ground beneath her feet with the blast. She pitched forward and stumbled into Carson, and somewhere three levels down from them, the room with Peter Grodin burst into flames and then receded to leave nothing but shrapnel, twisted metal and charred rubble behind. Elizabeth gagged, swallowing back revulsion and horror as she saw Caldwell and the others recover to the feet, slowly and disoriented, and then a moment later quickly realize what had happened when their gaze fell to the rubble.

Peter Grodin was dead.

“Do exactly what I say,” Zaddik said over the intercom. “Or I kill the rest of the people in that section. Or maybe I’ll try the man with you now?”

Elizabeth glanced to Carson, swallowing the instinctual rush of fear that came with the image of him meeting in the same fate as Grodin. As Sumner.

“Come to the 28th level,” Zaddik ordered. “Alone, or I continue this little trend.”

“Elizabeth,” Carson pleaded. “Don’t do it for me.”

She met Carson’s anxious gaze, trying to cover up her own apprehension. “I’m not. I’m doing it to end this.”

Over the radio, John was shouting at her. “Elizabeth, don’t even think about it! He’ll kill you!”

“John,” she replied, “I have to, and you know it. We have no other options left, but I can buy you some time.”

“Tick, tock,” Zaddik interrupted over the intercom. “I’ll give you five minutes to reach the main room in sublevel 28. Alone. Or someone else dies.”

There was a lull of silence that followed, speaking volumes for all of them. She watched, in her mind’s eye, as John struggled to come up with something that would talk her out of following Zaddik’s ultimatum. But then John managed to do that thing he was so good at, the thing that always kept her on her toes with him: he surprised her by going in the opposite direction.

“Elizabeth,” he voiced eerily calm. “Finish this.”

The implicit trust didn’t need another word.

Elizabeth reached up and switched the radio earpiece off. She climbed steadily to her feet and took one long cleansing breath. It was ironic that just when John finally admitted to the fact that he couldn’t protect her from everything, it was miserably in the same moment that Elizabeth knew she couldn’t protect herself.

A haunting flashback sprang to mind, of a conversation that had happened days ago.

 _Teyla took a steadying breath. “Except I do not want you any further involved than necessary.”_

 _Elizabeth blinked; she was more involved in this mess than anyone else. “Why?”_

 _“Because,” Teyla confessed, “in my second vision, I saw you…”_

 _“What?”_

 _“I think I saw you die.”_

 _She sucked air in and had to remind herself to exhale. There was an unnatural stretch of silence that followed as Elizabeth attempted to recover her ability to formulate thought. She’d heard a hundred visions from Teyla before; each stunning and often cryptic, but this was the first time Elizabeth had ever been the struck silent by one of them. This was the first time Elizabeth wished with all her heart for Teyla to take back the words._

 _Teyla clarified, “It is a… strange vision that I see of you. I hesitate to tell you this because I see… the events… they don’t...”_

 _“What? What happens to me? How do I die?”_

 _“I think,” Teyla stressed, then repeated the words for additional emphasis, “I think… I see you standing in front of Zaddik. I think I see him sacrificing you for his daughter.”_

The vision made Elizabeth gag just as it had the first time she’d heard the horrific declaration. Since the moment she’d first discovered Aiden Ford’s body nearly a month back – no, check that, since the moment she’d taken Ellia Keller’s life two years ago, things had unraveled in a way that had invariable lead to this moment. But… perhaps, if she stalled long enough, it would give the others the chance to finish mounting their siege.

Stall, her mind repeated.

“Elizabeth,” Carson said. “Godspeed.”

The walk to sublevel twenty-eight felt like the longest journey Elizabeth had ever made in her entire life.

\--x--

Elizabeth found an empty square chambered room at the base of the old military facility.

It looked to be some type of missile silo. There was a pair of half-opened blast doors to one side, and at the back rested an empty observation deck protected by a sheet of glass. Elizabeth’s gaze shifted briefly in curiosity to the ramp, oddly entranced by the object at the end. The metal incline ran up towards some looming structure that was covered up with a behemoth-sized white sheet. From the vague shape, Elizabeth could tell it had a circular structure to it. She had no idea what it was.

Elizabeth let her attention drift momentarily, still partially preoccupied with everything else she could sense with her panoramic awareness. John, Teyla and Rodney were still a way’s away from level 28, encountering more than their fair share of enemies on their way towards this very room. The sight brought a faint smile to her lips; John would never give up on her.

Ronon, on the other hand, hadn’t wasted any time in reaching his goal.

In a secluded subsection of the infirmary, Elizabeth watched as Ronon and Chaya slowly circled each other like caged lions. Heated words were exchanged – Chaya’s taunt and Ronon’s bark equally matched - and when they finally reacted, it was in the same second, rushing towards each other. Both were clearly masters of some form of martial arts training, and the fight quickly descended into a choreography of sophisticated moves that Elizabeth could no better follow than the individual movements of a symphony orchestra.

Then she sensed the stench of sulfur hanging in the air, even before she felt his presence.

Elizabeth whirled to find Zaddik standing behind her. “You know, this place has seen a lot of death,” he started as a greeting. An appropriate salutation, considering the source. Behind him, up in the observation deck, Jennifer crossed her arms and stood watching them with a dour look on her face. “So many deaths,” Zaddik murmured, almost in awe. “This world suffered because of it.”

Elizabeth pivoted to face him more fully. “You won’t be killing anymore here tonight.”

Zaddik approached the ramp to her left, gazing up at the sheeted-circular structure, and then tossed her a sidelong glance. “That’s an amusing remark coming from you. You, who must have come here knowing she was going to die.”

“I came here to fulfill a promise,” Elizabeth countered, with a quick glance towards Jennifer. “Your men are being defeated as we speak, Zaddik. No matter the numbers, my people are going to defeat them. You’re on the losing side.”

Zaddik offered a slim smile. “You think I care about any of the Jaffa? Or Chaya’s vampires? The only thing I have ever cared about is my daughter. You took that from me.”

“But you took more!” Elizabeth volleyed back, fuming. She felt all of it rising; the disgust, the needless slaughter; the lingering grief over her partner and now Grodin. “You’ve tortured so many. Killed so many. Vampires. Humans. Werewolves. Do you even know all their names? Can you even picture what they look like?” She paused bitterly. “Do you even _remember_ a werewolf named Aiden Ford?”

Zaddik laughed, a hint of perverse humor deep in his throat. “Ford? He came willingly to me, begging to make him stronger. A loyal pet, I used to call him.”

Jennifer emerged into the main room behind them, standing unobtrusively off to the side. Elizabeth gathered from the awkward way Jennifer held herself that the younger woman was going to sit quietly by, not likely one to directly confront the father she so obviously loved. Even it meant standing by while atrocity after atrocity was committed. History thus far had proven Jennifer had a conscience, but not much of a backbone to do anything about it.

“Do you know why I’ve never tried to kill you before?” Zaddik asked, drawing back her attention. “All these years I knew you were the one that had taken my Ellia away from me, but then why did I never go after you?”

Truthfully, she hadn’t given the notion much consideration, but such prolonged patience did seem out of place with Zaddik’s thirst for vengeance.

She bit the bullet. “Why?”

“Because the enzyme was only part of the answer to restoring my daughter to full strength,” Zaddik answered. “It took this long to perfect the enzyme, but, you see… science can do only so much. Magic? Ancient magic? That is where the true power lies, and such things are built on fundamental principles of balance. Balance between life and death. For my daughter to live, something else must die.”

The words echoed others she’d heard before, from Jennifer Keller herself. Elizabeth remembered the tidbit of information that thus far Zaddik had been sacrificing bits of his own mortality to sustain his daughter’s life.

“But anyone’s sacrifice wouldn’t do,” Zaddik added. “It needed to be someone who had a special connection with Ellia, one that would be recognized by the Ancient Forms. And what better connection for that than the person that killed her off? You were a fool to come here, Detective. But it’s blessed thing for Ellia.”

“Jennifer,” came a quiet voice, and both Elizabeth and Zaddik turned in surprise to find Jennifer interrupting the conversation. She stepped forward, tucking a long blonde strand of hair behind her ear as she met Zaddik’s gaze hesitantly. “My name is Jennifer. Ellia is dead, and no matter what magic you perform, that will never change. I’m Jennifer,” she insisted, “not Ellia.”

The sliver of defiance and determination from the younger woman shocked Elizabeth.

But, apparently, it was going to be fleeting.

“Of course, my child,” Zaddik dismissed quickly. “Your full memories will return once you are at full strength.” He turned back to Elizabeth again, pinning her with a hard look as he pulled free a silver knife from a sheath at his side. “Once Detective Weir sacrifices herself.”

“What?” Elizabeth breathed.

“If you do not do as I say,” he informed her quickly. “I will systemically kill your people, one-by-one. And I really do hate to set off explosions in my own facility. The cleanup is such a hassle.”

 _I think… I see you standing in front of Zaddik. I think I see him sacrificing you for his daughter._

Elizabeth’s mind rebelled in self-preservation and sought to find a loophole, drifting to track the progress of John, Teyla and Rodney as they made their way to her.

If she could buy some more time…

Zaddik hesitated before passing her the knife. “I should tell you, you won’t be able to kill me with this knife. I’m protected against such things.”

Her eyes fell to the pendent he had tied around his neck; the charmed artifact Teyla had spoken of earlier. As long as he had that on him, he was protected from almost everything.

Still, Elizabeth leveled him with a hard glare, and held out her palm. “If I wanted to attack you, I wouldn’t do it with metal,” she threatened in a sweet voice.

“Cute,” Zaddik volleyed back, clearly unimpressed. “Now slice open your forearm like a good little girl. I need some of your blood before beginning the incantation.”

She couldn’t suppress the grimace on her face, even knowing Zaddik had been goading for it. She recovered a second later when he placed the metal grip in the palm of her hand, her fingers curling, twitching to dig the silvered-tip of it into Zaddik’s neck.

“Do it,” Zaddik ordered.

A lengthy beat later, there was a long and harsh slice across her forearm, and Elizabeth bit back the guttural cry. At first, crimson liquid spilled in drops and slow rivulets before the blood began flowing out more steadily. The wound was not fatal, but Elizabeth knew the blade might as well have been poisoned at the tip. It was made from silver, which meant the wound would never heal naturally on its own. Ever.

She hissed sharply when Zaddik grabbed the arm and collected a few drops of blood in his hand. He turned to his daughter. “Jennifer, come here.” The girl hesitated, stiff as a board as she watched the blood seep from Elizabeth’s arm. “Jennifer, quickly!” he snapped.

The sharp bark jolted Jennifer out of her paralysis and she obediently stepped forward. Zaddik smeared the blood on his fingertips and then pressed his thumb to his daughter’s forehead, drawing an archaic symbol. He began chanting a spew of Latin words, although Elizabeth quickly realized it was actually an odd derivation of Latin. She could tell the consonants of words sounded off, something wrong about the pronunciation. She understood the basic gist of it, though: a sacrifice; Elizabeth’s life for Jennifer’s.

The gagging smell of sulfur increased.

She imagined the magic took more from her than the self-inflicted wound. A seeping weakness spread through her limbs, draining Elizabeth of energy. The magic in the air swirled around her, and then suddenly all Elizabeth could see, could detect, was Zaddik’s voice, and Jennifer’s presence standing next to her, the three of them formulating a triangle in the middle of the room. Her panoramic awareness bled away and she wavered on her feet. The molecules surrounding her moved with dark energy, crackling like the sound of thunder, and then a current of air from nowhere swept passed Elizabeth, curling her hair around her face.

The current swept right passed and spread through the entire room, sweeping the nearby behemoth-sized white sheet off its resting place. The covering floated with a graceful billow and then pooled on the floor, revealing a large archaic ring of some type with strange symbols carved along the rim.

A dozen things happened at once.

John, Teyla and Rodney burst in through the side doors with a bang, and Elizabeth reacted because she’d been primed for that exact moment – a split second of distraction – and she lunged. Her grip tightened over the knife, the other snagged Zaddik’s outstretched wrist, and she twisted both. The blade ended up digging into Zaddik’s throat, the tip nearly drawing blood.

“Now listen to me, carefully,” she breathed in a low voice. “I’ve never underestimated you, but you clearly underestimated me—”

Zaddik slammed her with a jolt of electricity, ripping the knife from her grasp in the same second he sent Elizabeth careening back towards the ground. She landed with a grunt on the floor, vision swirling, fading. Teyla, John, and Rodney skidded to a halt at the other end of the room, the latter two with guns drawn. Teyla simply held still with her hands raised in defense, a cackle of electricity discharging between her fingers.

“I told you this knife wouldn’t hurt me!” Zaddik sneered with his hand around the blade, then turned to Teyla. “Nor your magic. Not when I have protection!”

Elizabeth gathered her fading strength, and lifted her hand. “You mean _this_ protection,” she taunted.

Dangling between her fingers was Zaddik’s pendent, cut loose from his throat by the knife.

All hell broke loose.

Teyla and Zaddik exchanged bolts of lightning like they were trading gunfire, the cackle of light and heat blinding Elizabeth for a moment. Jennifer screamed and dove out of the way, skidding across the floor until she landed near Elizabeth’s feet. John and Rodney opened fire, but Zaddik merely waved a hand and another jolt of electricity sent them both flying back into the wall. He pinned them there, affixed by some invisible force.

Teyla was clearly the only real threat to Zaddik in the entire room, but the magical strength was too evenly matched. Zaddik and Teyla traded shots, spewed Latin incantations from their lips, and slammed each other with spell after spell. It created pandemonium in the process, and neither seemed to be gaining any ground.

“Jennifer,” Elizabeth breathed, lifting her head briefly. “You have to do something!”

Jennifer turned blindly to Elizabeth, stricken with fear. “I can’t!”

“You have to,” Elizabeth pressed, eyes pinched tight and gasping for breath. “Or this ends in more bloodshed. You can’t expect others to fight for you. If you want your father stopped, you’re the only one that can do it!”

Jennifer’s face crumbled, tears brimming. “How? He is my father. He would die for me.”

Elizabeth’s face closed off. “Thus far, all he’s done is _kill_ for you.”

Jennifer flinched, and turned away, staring at the spectacle of Teyla and Zaddik warring off against each other. Elizabeth struggled to maintain consciousness, incredibly weak and growing weaker. Was the spell still in effect? Was she still being drained of life? Even with these alarming thoughts clamored for attention, Elizabeth recognized the exact moment Jennifer’s face grew dark with determination. The younger woman took a deep breath and rose to her feet.

“Do it, Jennifer,” Elizabeth encouraged with her words, because in the end, that was all she had left. “Stop him.”

“Father!” Jennifer screamed, “Father!”

Zaddik was too busy with Teyla to pay attention, so Jennifer stepped forward and brought her hands together. Then she shocked the hell out of Elizabeth when she aimed and hit her father with a powerful jolt of electricity that slammed him onto the metal ramp. Struck down, when he finally lifted his head, he touched his forehead and his fingers came back tinged with his own blood. When he realized it was his own daughter that had taken him down, Elizabeth saw the sting of that betrayal blossom in his eyes.

“Child!” Zaddik breathed in shock. “What are you doing? These people will kill us!”

“These people won’t hurt you,” Jennifer replied on a shaky breath. “Detective Weir gave me her word. Let them help you. Stop this madness and turn yourself i—”

“Ellia,” he scolded. “Don’t—”

“My name,” she screamed back, the dam broken loose, “is Jennifer! Not Ellia, father. Jennifer!”

The harsh words cut through like nothing else had. Zaddik seemed to comprehend the swift change in events faster. He glanced from Teyla to Elizabeth, then rested his gaze on his daughter again, struggling for words.

“I did all of this for you!” he insisted in a broken voice, desperately. “Only for you!”

“Then stop for me,” Jennifer pleaded. “No more. I rather die than have any more blood spilt.”

“It doesn’t need to end that way,” Elizabeth added in a strained voice. “I gave Jennifer my word. I’ll hold to it.”

Teyla stepped closer to Jennifer, creating a unified front against Zaddik. Stricken by his daughter’s actions, for the first time Zaddik was anything but arrogant and cocky. He faintly shook his head, as though in shock, slowly coming to realize that the odds had been turned against him. There was no way he could recover against two powerful witches.

Zaddik never took his eyes off his daughter. “Even if you hold true to your words, Detective, I’ve created too many enemies. Too many of them powerful. I won’t survive long, and then… what happens to my daughter?”

Jennifer advanced until she was looming over him. Her face softened, and then she dropped to her knees beside him. “The same thing that happens to _all_ people,” she breathed in a soft whisper. “I die.”

Zaddik reached up to brush a strand of blonde hair away from her face. “Oh, child,” he breathed. “I have sacrificed pieces of my life to sustain you for so long. How can I give up so easily?”

Elizabeth almost didn’t notice it, too far removed from the situation, almost on the verge of passing out. But in one of Zaddik’s hands rested the ceremonial knife, and the other hand had just smeared his blood onto Jennifer’s forehead. The incantation, Elizabeth realized distantly.

“For you, Jennifer,” Zaddik breathed. “Live happily, my child.”

He continued the Latin incantation, and Elizabeth screamed as a surge of pain worked through her body. Her vision faded, and though she never saw Zaddik plunge the knife into his own chest, Jennifer’s answering cry of horror spoke for itself. A flash of lightning blinded everything in sight, and then suddenly, all was quiet.

All was unnaturally still.

\--x--


	12. Chapter 12

\--x--

She was back in the castle again – the same one she’d visited with Jennifer Keller in that shared dream of theirs. To one side stood a large pillar of stone, a red tapestry that ran down the length of it, and to the other end, a grand piano and a row of pews. Elizabeth circled on her heels, taking in the large room when a familiar voice shot out across the cold hall.

“Well, hell, leave you alone for a few _days_ and look at the shit you land yourself in.”

She whirled on the balls of her feet to find Marshall Sumner settled idly in the last pew, arm slung across the back of the bench. He eyed her with a quirk of a brow, that achingly familiar brand of amusement and annoyance that was one-hundred-percent-Sumner peeking through with the gesture. For a brief moment Elizabeth forgot how to think, even how to breathe, stunned into silence as she stared at her partner.

Then reality settled in like a slap across the face. “I’m dead.”

Sumner leaned forward, bracing elbows on his knees as his gaze hardened. “The way you were going, are you really surprised?”

Elizabeth was still reeling from the epiphany. “Where is here?” she asked as she let out a tense exhale, watching Sumner rise to his feet. “Is this… this is heaven?”

Sumner slid his hands into his pockets, glanced at the ceiling and barked a laugh, warm and familiar. “God, no, woman. Heaven has better accommodations, trust me on that. This? This is all you. Someplace you feel safe and have warm fuzzies.”

She swept her gaze across the castle again, a figment of what she’d thought had been Jennifer’s manifestations the last time. Belatedly she acknowledged it must have been her own. There were a flight of stairs in the back, spiraling downwards, but Elizabeth approached the open window to the left and found the same scenery as before: a thick forest and a streaming river of water running passed the base of the fortress.

A memory floated to mind – a plastic toy castle that she used to play with as a child. She had an entire kingdom set up inside it, as the imagination of her ten-year-old self had constructed a mythos of a lone princess in a lost city where magic and knights and warlocks and demons all existed.

Princess Elizabeth, she used to call herself.

She eyed Sumner. “What am I doing here?”

Sumner twisted around, walking further down the aisle away from her. “The decision is being made… of where you’re headed from here.”

Heaven or hell, she realized abruptly.

The weight of reality was beginning to settle heavy on Elizabeth’s shoulders as her mind played catch-up. She looked to Sumner; the man who she thought she’d never see again.

“Is it really you?”

Sumner rolled his eyes. “No, I’m the ghost of Christmas past.”

Before she even quite knew it, before she was even aware of making the conscious decision, Elizabeth closed the gap and flung her arms around him. Marshall just grunted at first, standing stiff in her arms for a long moment before he offered her an awkward pat on the shoulder. She didn’t care if he felt uncomfortable with the display of affection or if she was making a fool out of herself. This was a moment that merited a hug if there ever was one.

“No need to get sentimental on me, Weir. You only saw me a few days ago.”

She pulled back and glared. “No need to get sentimental?” she exclaimed. “I’m not overreacting, Marshall. You’re dead!”

“So are you,” Sumner offered pointedly. “Well, dying more than dead, really.”

The words brought out a flinch before Elizabeth could suppress it. She stepped away and settled heavily onto the wooden bench, taking a deep breath before she dropped her head into her hands. She scrubbed her hands through her hair and down the nape of her neck, too overwhelmed to come to terms with what was happening. Sumner maneuvered himself into the spot next to her, resting so that their shoulders brushed lightly. She found the contact endearing and comforting, much like that of her pack. Sumner may not have been her kin but he was closer to her than any blood relative she’d ever had, a steadfast presence unlike so many other people that’d skidded through her life like pebbles across a pond.

“Sumner, I—”

“Don’t say it.”

“Don’t say what?”

“Apologize for my death,” Sumner answered knowingly. “I don’t want to hear it.”

Elizabeth opened and closed her mouth, then spat out swiftly, “I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it.”

Sumner threw up his hands and scowled. “What did I just say?”

His bark was worse than his bite though, so Elizabeth didn’t recoil in the slightest. “When was the last time I did anything you told me to?” she tried for lighthearted. “We never agreed on anything, and that’s not likely going to change now.”

Sumner’s voice softened, probably despite himself. “Don’t apologize for things that weren’t your fault, Elizabeth. Jesus, if you learned that years ago? We wouldn’t be in this mess.”

This mess, Elizabeth silently repeated, almost numbly. If she was dead, she’d left behind a horrible mess for the others to deal with, that was for sure. She didn’t want to even think about what John was going through right now. God, John. Her eyes prickled with tears, and then, almost as if she was seeing what was happening in real life, what was happening to her body, Elizabeth had a flash of insight.

 _She felt John gathering her into his arms. He lifted her off the ground, and her head rolled weakly to rest against his shoulder. John’s eyes were misted over with a dark look, an anguish in him she'd never seen before._

 _“The enzyme,” Jennifer breathed from a distance, voice hitched with sobs. The young orphan was cradling Zaddik’s lifeless body in her arms, face streaked with tears. “The final dosage,” she expanded. “We perfected the concoction yesterday.”_

 _“Where is it?” Teyla asked anxiously._

 _“The infirmary,” Jennifer answered._

 _“Hold on,” John breathed in a painfully tight voice as Elizabeth drifted back into darkness. “I’ve got you...”_

Elizabeth glanced down and wrung her hands in her lap. “I messed this one up, Marshall. I messed this one up big time.”

Thankfully, Sumner didn’t let her completely off the hook. “Yeah, you did.”

By the tone of his voice, she knew he was in fact aware of the full meaning of her words. Her eyes drifted shut, relieved she wasn’t going to have to confess Ellia Keller’s murder to him. It’d been painful enough admitting the truth to Caldwell; she didn’t think she could face that type of recrimination from Sumner.

“I don’t expect you to get this easily," Sumner continued, "but you’re at death’s doorstep. If you’re ever gonna get it, it’s now.”

“Get what?”

“You gotta stop living in the past. You gotta move on.”

“How am I supposed to forget—”

“I didn’t say forget,” Sumner argued, never deterred when he had a point to make. “I said move on. Things aren’t black and white. Not even Ellia Keller’s death.”

“I killed someone,” Elizabeth countered with a persistent shake of her head. “That’s not grey.”

“If things were as simple as you thought, we wouldn’t be having this conversation _here_ ,” Sumner corrected. “We’d be having it surrounded by fire and brimstone and neither one of us would be enjoying that experience much. Life is messy, Elizabeth. Life is never black and white. It’s about trying your best to do the right thing, and tell me, have you ever done anything short of that?”

Elizabeth throat tightened, unable to answer for a brief pause. “I think I’ve—”

“You’ve always done what you thought was right,” Sumner finished for her. “Now it’s time for you to recognize that. Learn from your mistakes and stop living in the past. If you do, you’d realize you’ve got a future ahead of you that’s worth a damn sight more attention than what’s already dust and ashes.”

Future? Elizabeth caught on the word and realized the significance.

“This isn’t about heaven or hell, is it?” she asked in a shaky whisper.

“You’ve just been hit,” Sumner finished. “The getting-up part is left to you, so don’t screw this up.”

She opened her mouth to respond but was quickly interrupted. “Um, hey,” the voice spoke up hesitantly. Elizabeth whirled quickly to find Aiden Ford and Peter Grodin standing in the distance. A stab of regret and grief went through her, fiercely pungent under the weight of all the events that had transpired lately.

“Stop blaming yourself for things you couldn’t have prevented,” Sumner added to her thoughts.

Grodin merely offered her a smile and a wave before he turned away, walking out the door without even a word. Aiden Ford was left standing alone, and it was obvious he was a little embarrassed by the way he held himself. “Hey,” he repeated awkwardly.

Sumner slanted him a look. “You’re just supposed to wave and leave, Ford,” he replied with annoyance. “That’s what you were told to do, remember? _I_ do the talking.”

Aiden pointed a finger in the air. “Yeah, I know. About that?”

Sumner glowered. “This better be damn impor—”

“Marshall,” Elizabeth chided, jabbing him with her elbow. “I think I’ve got a second or two to spare for him.”

Ford stepped closer. “Uh, good, actually,” he sheepishly replied, “Because before she goes, there’s something I gotta tell her.”

\--x--

Opening her eyes fractionally, the first thing she noticed was the harsh florescent lighting, followed by the distinct disorientation of waking up in an unfamiliar place. It took a second or two to remember the details of everything that had happened, and strangely the panic that should have surged through her at the memory never came. Instead, calmly, feeling better than she had any right to feel, Elizabeth pushed off on her elbows and glanced around.

“I’m back,” she breathed in relief.

She was in the infirmary of the underground facility, though it was hardly recognizable because of the mess left behind in the aftermath of battle. She dropped her gaze to her arms, to her wrists, and found them healed without even a scar to show for it. For a half a tick, she wondered if she was still dreaming. The last moments of consciousness she’d remembered had been harried and gruesome, and she distinctly remembered the dangerous amounts of blood loss.

She should be dead, or at the very least, in a horrific amount of pain or disorientation. Instead, though, Elizabeth felt eerily calm and physically fine. Better than fine. She felt rested and oddly keyed up, like she could now repeat the horrific and draining day with energy left to spare.

The enzyme, she realized in the next second.

Licking her parched lips, Elizabeth quickly gathered herself up and swept her eyes over the room. There were a few more people sleeping in the nearby beds – Bates, Biro, Lorne, and two others she couldn’t see the faces of. They were being treated heavily with saline IV drips, and though the environment was hardly ideal, the others had obviously elected to temporarily reconvert the infirmary back to its original purpose.

Which meant the good guys had taken the facility completely over.

Wondering how long she’d been passed out, she scrubbed a hand through her tangled curls and climbed down from bed. Carson was fast asleep in the corner, sitting near a desk, head pillowed against his arms. If he saw her attempting to leave the bed, he’d likely have an aneurism.

Quietly as she could manage, she wandered through the cluttered infirmary and made her way towards the hall. Her panoramic awareness of everything was gone, and though it had recently served to be an invaluable asset, Elizabeth was thankful for the absence. The energy needed to maintain focus under the constant stream of images hadn’t been a particularly pleasant feeling. Still, it left Elizabeth disoriented now, slightly lost as she wandered the now unfamiliar hallways.

The place was a disaster zone. There was hardly a corridor or a spare room that wasn’t left in devastation. She climbed over rubble and reached the elevator. When she hit the button and watched the doors slid open, she was surprised to find Ronon on the other side.

His unnaturally blue eyes caught hers and narrowed into slits. “Something tells me the doc didn’t let you out of bed.”

Elizabeth easily ignored the statement. “Where is everybody?”

“You shouldn’t be out here alone. The others can handle the clean-up.”

“I feel fine,” Elizabeth replied quickly, knowing the enzyme was entirely to credit for that. “Where’s John?”

“Don’t know,” Ronon answered. “Around. You can get him on the radio.”

Elizabeth took a deep breath, knowing that probably wasn’t the best way to handle the situation with John. She tried to shift her attention back to the most pressing concern, “Teyla?”

Ronon’s voice turned rough and annoyed, “With that so-called good bloodsucker on level 28.”

“Which one?” she breathed anxiously.

“I’m supposed to remember all their names now?’

Elizabeth didn’t comment on the bark of his words, though she definitely had a lot more to say on the issue. But she needed to inform her new revelations to John first. Repressing an anxious sigh, she stepped into the elevator with Ronon and her gaze dropped down to the bloody sword dangling from one of his hands. The man had an arsenal of firepower but he still brought along a sword.

With an arch of an eyebrow, she asked, “What happened with you and Chaya?”

As the elevator doors closed around them, he brought up the blade to land against his shoulder. “She lost her head,” he answered brusquely with a dark smirk.

On second thought, Elizabeth realized, maybe she could use the help of someone like Ronon for what she was about to do.

\--x--

They found John, Teyla and Michael in the main room where Zaddik had died. His body had been removed, but there were splashes of blood on the floor where he died, and though Elizabeth tried not to focus on it, there were a few areas where her own blood stained the ground. The room, much like the rest of the facility, was looking singed and demolished. The destruction wasn't absolute, though. At one end of the room, the strange ring-like structure stood standing without a single mark blemishing the surface.

Elizabeth and Ronon walked into the room just as Teyla was discussing the alien object with the other two men. “It is old and powerful,” Teyla acknowledged to her companions, eyeing the structure, “but I have no idea what it does. I shudder to think what Zaddik’s intentions were for it.”

“Nothing good,” Elizabeth answered, announcing their presence.

Both John and Michael turned around, each armed with P-90s. John tensed at the first sight of her, but Elizabeth warded him off with a raised hand before he twitched, silently begging him to stay right where he was.

Teyla caught the exchange with interest. “Is something wrong, Elizabeth?”

“No,” Elizabeth lied quickly, “Tired, but I’m fine.” She flashed a reassuring smile to everyone, lingering the most on John, and quickly refocused the attention on something else. “What do you make of this structure?”

Teyla continued her answer, though Elizabeth hardly heard it as she slipped into the spot right in between Teyla and John, staring up the ramp. John kept tossing her concerned looks, and though she wanted to reassure him, she couldn’t be distracted from what she needed to do first. This had waited long enough.

Ronon brought up the other end of the group, so that he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Michael. The positioning wasn’t incidental.

“Teyla,” Elizabeth asked in a curious voice. “Do you recognize any of the symbols carved around the rim?”

Teyla stepped up the ramp to get a closer look. “None, particularly, although there is—”

Elizabeth caught John’s eyes, and silently mouthed one word: _Michael._ Ronon reacted in the same second, going for Michael’s throat with one hand and stripping the P-90 from him with the other to fling across the room. John startled and Teyla whirled in shock, but Ronon had reacted quicker than any of them. Michael had an additional archaic silver blade that rested at his hip, and Ronon quickly knocked that loose.

In less than two seconds worth of struggle, Michael was disarmed and immobile in Ronon’s death grip.

“What is going on?!” Teyla demanded as her eyes flashed white in anger.

“Teyla, wait!” Elizabeth pleaded. “We have an explanation!”

Michael bucked and riled against his hold, but Ronon’s grip was strong. “Stop struggling,” Ronon demanded in a vicious bark, and then threw Michael to the ground. The pale vampire skidded across the concrete, and Ronon reached for the canon blaster-looking gun that rested at his side. “I knew we couldn’t trust—”

“Wait!” Teyla’s eyes flashed with a warning. “What is the meaning of this?”

“Yeah,” John added in a sharp voice of his own. “Something you want to share with the rest of the class, guys?”

“Aiden Ford,” Elizabeth answered. “Zaddik didn’t kill him. Michael did.”

The declaration stilled everybody’s movement for a split-second, then Michael climbed to his feet, brushing off imaginary dust as he turned to Elizabeth. “That’s utterly ridiculous,” he said coolly, as if he hadn’t just been tossed aside like a rag doll.

“I’ve been informed—”

“Then you’ve been misinformed,” Michael countered. “This has to be some type of pathetic joke.”

“No one seems to be laughing,” Ronon answered.

Michael shifted a little under the harsh scrutiny of Ronon and turned back to Elizabeth. “Is bigfoot giving you this idea? Because he’s lying to you, Detective.”

“No,” Elizabeth answered. “My source isn’t Ronon.”

“Source?” John repeated in bewilderment. “When did you have time to talk to any source?”

“Whoever it is,” Michael scowled and his hands fisted, “they’re lying to you.”

For all of Aiden Ford’s faults, she highly doubted he’d lie about his own murder. “Why did you do it?” Elizabeth asked. “Because he helped Zaddik against your vampires? Did you even stop and consider any other avenues before you went in for the kill?”

“Whoa,” John interrupted with a growl. “Be kind, rewind. Where did all of this come from suddenly?”

“She’s being made a fool,” Michael lobbied, angrily.

John turned to level a glare, adopting a lazy drawl, “And maybe name-calling’s not the best way for you to play this right now?”

Michael ignored John’s annoyance and turned to Teyla. “They’re lying, Teyla. I didn’t kill anybody, especially one of their pack. Why would I have helped everybody here otherwise?”

“Because you wanted Zaddik stopped,” Ronon countered menacingly, and raised the gun in his hand.

“Ronon!” Teyla stopped him. “That’s enough. I’ll handle this.”

But Elizabeth looked to Teyla with uncertainty in her eyes. Having recently heard the confession from Teyla’s lips that she was pregnant with Michael’s child, Elizabeth wasn’t sure the Wiccan would be the best judgment of character here. It was unfair to ask so much of Teyla. They needed to take Michael into custody. Let Caldwell and the other detectives handle the murderer how they saw fit.

“This isn’t about vengeance,” Elizabeth said to Teyla. “This is about justice. That night that Ford died, he was jumped by Michael and a group of six other vampires.”

“How could you know this?” Teyla asked in a soft voice, clearly conflicted. “Where did you get this information?”

Lifting her chin, she drew a deep breath. “From the victim himself. Aiden Ford told me.”

Michael’s head snapped over to Elizabeth. “A dead guy told you?”

Beside him, John was staring at her with equal confusion but Elizabeth kept her gaze trained on Teyla, willing the other woman to understand everything not spoken out loud. Intuitively, Teyla grasped complications and impossibilities like most people comprehended basic math. Teyla would either believe her or she wouldn’t. There would be little convincing in the process.

“Aiden Ford told me,” Elizabeth repeated, and glanced to John. “I heard it from his lips.”

“From what?” Michael demanded. “Beyond the grave?”

“Yes,” Elizabeth answered bluntly, without shame.

Michael threw his hands up in the air, incredulous. “You’re not going to believe them, are you?” Michael said to Teyla, almost in shock. “I’m standing right here, Teyla. Ask me what happened.”

Teyla pivoted slowly to face him, and complied with his wishes, “Were you there that night Ford died?”

“No,” Michael answered in an unwavering voice, eyes softening into a plea as he stared at his lover. “Teyla, of course I wasn’t.”

Elizabeth stepped toward Teyla, pressing the issue. “You once told me the reason you broke it off with Michael was because he had two natures. He could be kind and loving, but he was also merciless and exacting when his people were threatened. Aiden posed a threat to his vampires, and Michael just did what was in his nature.”

It was heartbreaking to watch, but Teyla’s composure began to crumble around the edges, her gaze shifting from Michael to Elizabeth and back again. “I don’t... I don’t know what to believe.”

“Believe me,” Michael breathed in a whisper. “Teyla, you know how I feel about you. I would never betray you.”

John furrowed his brow. “But you wouldn’t see this as a betrayal to Teyla, would you?” he breathed, quickly catching on. He glanced briefly to Elizabeth and Teyla before he slowly pivoted against Michael, eyeing him with renewed distrust that he hadn’t shown the vampire since this entire ordeal with Zaddik began. “You didn’t even know Teyla was friends with our pack. Remember that night we got into a tussle at her place? You made a couple of disparaging remarks about being surprised she was friends with the likes of me.”

Michael’s eyes dropped in warmth, turning chilly and devoid of life, so unlike his normal eyes which Elizabeth had always mused were too human for him. “If I killed Aiden, how could Teyla not have sensed it before now?” he demanded. “She’s one of the most potent clairvoyants, and she didn’t sense a thing?”

“My powers are not all-knowing,” Teyla countered in a soft voice, eyes brimming with uncertainty. “I can’t predict everything, nor can I always sense the intentions of others.” She met Michael’s gaze directly. “You know that better than most.”

Elizabeth spotted the pair of handcuffs hanging off John’s utility belt, and she closed the gap between them and brusquely unclipped it from his waist. “I’ve already contacted Caldwell and he knows everything. He’s headed up here to take you into custody,” she told Michael as she opened the cuffs. “Do yourself a favor and don’t resist. Otherwise I’ll have Ronon cuff you.”

Ronon flashed a feral grin for added emphasis.

“You can’t do this,” Michael replied. “You have no proof, Detective.”

Elizabeth nodded demurely. “Maybe, but I’ve got my gut instincts and I’m learning to appreciate them more and more.” She paused, then added in an impish voice, “ _Plus_ , there’s also this little extra tidbit of information that Ford told me.”

She walked across the platform, and kneeled to retrieve the small silver blade Ronon had stolen away from Michael during the struggle. The curved handle fit smoothly in the palm of her hands as she rose, and she suspected the antique knife held special sentimental value with Michael, for him to carry it into battle instead of something else more modern and sophisticated.

She glanced up at Michael. “This knife was used in Aiden’s killing, wasn’t it?”

Caldwell’s voice shot out behind her, announcing his arrival, “You don’t have to answer that. Our forensics lab will do it for you.” Elizabeth turned her head as Caldwell came to stop beside her, and he eyed the knife in her hands. “Weir,” he acknowledged her with an approving nod. “It’s about time you closed this case.”

The words held an appreciation she thought she’d never hear from Caldwell again.

“And even if you do get off,” John added to Michael with a dark look. “There’s still me. Ford was one of my own.”

Michael turned back to Teyla. “You can’t possibly believe them.”

But Teyla merely stood there, silent, unwilling to side with one group over Michael or vice-versa. Elizabeth found she couldn’t blame her. If anyone ever spoke similarly against John, called him a liar and a murderer, Elizabeth would have starkly refused to listen to all the logic in the world.

Caldwell took the cuffs from Elizabeth’s hands and circled around Michael. “Michael Kenmore, you’re under arrest for the murder of Aiden Ford. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law...”

Ronon raised an eyebrow as Caldwell went on, “How are you guys planning to arrest and try a vampire?”

“Our policy with vampires isn’t as forgiving as three strikes,” Elizabeth answered with a sigh. “No court officially recognizes paranormal killings yet, which means that justice regarding paranormal killings is usually done quietly,” she paused pointedly, “covertly—”

Michael rammed his hand against Caldwell’s nose, blood spraying everywhere. Before the others could react, Michael spun Caldwell around and had him clenched in a headlock that served dually as a human shield. “Everybody stay back!” he threatened. “Or—”

“Michael,” Teyla pressed forward. “What are you doing? If you’re innocent, there’s no reason to resist.” Michael glanced at her, a look exchanged, and in a split second no words were needed for Teyla to understand the implicit confession. Teyla recoiled, swallowing hard as her eyes drifted shut in horror. “Oh, Goddess, how could I have been so blind?”

“Love fools the best of us,” Michael replied. “And I do love you, Teyla. Maybe, in time, you can forgive me for this.”

Teyla opened her eyes. “Morality does not bend with time, Michael. That is why we never stayed together. Why we never can.”

“You love me,” Michael argued. “And we’re immortals. I’m willing to wait for you to see things my way. Until then, everybody back off so I can get out of here.”

Teyla stepped forward, and spread her palms open by her sides. “Release him, Michael.”

Elizabeth stepped back instinctively, well familiar with that tone of voice from Teyla. It usually spelled trouble. A glance in either direction confirmed that others shared the sentiment. They all retreated to give Teyla and Michael a wide breach, Caldwell caught in the middle.

Michael dropped his gaze to her outstretched fingers, watching the lightning crackle between her digits. “You wouldn’t.”

Elizabeth wasn’t sure Teyla would either; not to the father of her child.

Teyla tilted her head to the side. “You leave me no choice.”

She fired a bolt of lightning, and the last thing to _ever_ register on Michael’s face was pure shock.

\--x--

Hours later, everything had been dealt with.

Jennifer had long since slipped passed the mirror with Caldwell and the other detectives, and Elizabeth wondered what fate would have in store for the younger woman. Cameron Mitchell and the rest of the vampires that had fought alongside the pack had also left, taking their wounded with them.

The only people remaining was the pack and Teyla, the latter of which secluded herself in that main room on level twenty-eight, staring up at that strange ring-like structure like it held all the mysteries of the universe. No one bothered her; it was for the best if she had some alone time to come to terms with all that had happened.

Elizabeth returned to the infirmary shortly thereafter, and it was only until they were finally ready to leave that Carson let her out of his sight again. She nodded to a few of her pack members as they left to return through the mirror, but Elizabeth lingered behind. She hadn’t yet had a real chance to speak with John, one thing or another always getting in the way.

After everything that had happened, not just the thing with Michael, or the thing with Zaddik, but everything, she was left a little battered and confused. God, even before she’d ended up bleeding on the floor and John was left to carry her to the infirmary, things had hardly been kosher between them. The fight back in Carson’s house – which seemed so devastating at the time – hadn’t been a particularly good way to part.

Suddenly, Elizabeth wasn’t sure where she stood with John.

She rode the elevator up and down, searching the maze-like structure for any sight of him. After a half-an-hour, Elizabeth was almost about to give up. Then the elevator doors pinged open on level 21, and she found John on the other side.

They just stared at each other for a long beat, both at a loss for words. For the first time, Elizabeth actually had the leisure to study his state of condition. Though she knew she was the one that nearly died today, she suspected of the two of them John looked the worse for wear. He was sporting a split lip, and there were more than a few cuts and scrapes all along his left arm like he’d dodged a grenade and had gotten shrapnel for his troubles. His black fatigues were frayed and dirty, and his shirt was covered with a splash of Elizabeth’s own blood, which all came together to polish off the look of a hardened soldier coming back from a war torn region.

“Hey,” she managed to greet.

John scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck as he glanced away. “I’m hoping Carson actually released you from the infirmary this time?”

There was no accusation in the words; no bite, no heat to it all. It was just a simple question, said in an oddly detached manner like he was asking about the weather or what time of the day it was.

“Yeah,” she eventually answered. “The enzyme is a thing of wonder. I feel better than I did before.”

“Carson said you’d be fine,” was John’s stiff answer with a nod. “Your withdrawal’s going to be a bitch, though. Trust me on that.”

His tone was flat and she shifted under the weight of the awkward tension. The conversation was quickly headed into surreal territory, ringing false like both of them were trying too hard.

They stared at each other, again at a loss for words, until the elevator doors started to close again. The action broke the spell. John’s hand shot out and caught the door, forcing it back open, and then the next thing she knew he slipped inside and his lips were pressed firmly against hers, hands tangled in her hair, tongue invading her mouth to make her weak-kneed no matter the level of enzyme in her. The door closed just as John pushed her back against the far wall.

She pulled back from John with the taste of copper blood on her lips, remembering his lower lip was split. “I’m all right,” she insisted to him. “Are you all right?”

“I am now,” he mumbled darkly, and moved in to kiss her again.

As Elizabeth dragged fingers through his hair and reciprocated, a flood of relief ran rampant. Their earlier fight suddenly didn’t matter – she couldn’t work up much righteous anger over his actions, especially with how everything else had played out. He may have locked her in Carson's bedroom, but then she’d gone and almost died on him. She figured that evened the score and, god, she really didn’t want to fight with John about anything again. Ever.

Highly unlikely, but a girl needed to set the bar high.

“John,” she breathed in a whisper. “Take me home.”

\--x--


	13. Chapter 13

\--x--

They abandoned the underground facility, destroyed the mirror, and never looked back.

Afterwards, the pack descended on mass to her townhouse. They'd imposed long enough on Carson, and with the threat gone and the pack's building destroyed, there was little other option left. Elizabeth hadn’t set foot in her house for nearly a week. The group clustered around her front porch as Elizabeth fumbled for her keys and pushed open the door. Everybody flooded in - Rodney, Laura, Radek, Ronon, Lorne, a half a dozen other pack members, and John and Elizabeth brought up the rear.

"You got anything to eat?" Rodney asked, making straight for the kitchen. "I could eat enough for six werewolves right now-"

"How is that any different from your normal eating habits?" Laura tossed back, dropping heavily onto Elizabeth's couch.

Elizabeth winced, eyeing the dirt and grime covering everyone, and made a mental note to get a cleaning maid in here soon. She disregarded the pile of mail accumulating outside her front door and the collection of voicemail on the answering machine.

"Nice place," Lorne acknowledged, crashing on the floor near the fireplace. "Who's up for an impromptu cloistered night?" He glanced briefly to the broad daylight outside, then retracted. "Okay, cloistered day. Indoors?"

There was a series of affirmative cheers, and Elizabeth smiled. "This living room isn't big enough for everybody."

John brushed passed her with a smirk. "You and me can take your bedroom upstairs."

Rodney rolled his eyes. "Just keep it down! I need my beauty sleep."

Laura barked a harsh laugh. " _Beauty_ sleep?"

A while later, after drawing the curtains shut and getting everybody else settled in with bedding and snacks, she slowly trailed John as he ascended the stairs, eyeing with concern the way he gave a slight favor to his left leg. She sympathized with his state of condition – even if her own rather serious injuries had been effectively treated by a concentrated dose of enzyme. It actually left her in better shape than him despite the fact that Elizabeth was the one that had nearly died. When they reached the top of the steps, he pivoted on the balls of his feet, curiously taking in the space.

“Nice place,” he commented.

She realized that the last time he’d visited her here, the only room he’d spent any time in was her basement. “I’ll give you the dime tour later,” she proposed tiredly. “Let’s get cleaned up and sleep first.”

John grunted in agreement, the exhaustion etched on his face plain for all to see. They showered quickly, and she took care to wash the dirt and blood from his body with the soft caress of a lover. When he began drying off, Elizabeth went rummaging through the back of her wardrobe for something that would suit John’s size. Appropriately, she unearthed a tattered old pair of sweatpants, one which should have been familiar to him.

“Is this mine?” John voiced, face scrunched up in confusion.

Elizabeth offered an impish shrug. “A few of your things found their way into my boxes when we split. I just… never got around to returning them.”

Okay, so the truth was she’d originally kept them because of their smell. A guilty pleasure, yes, and although the interceding years had washed away any scent of John, the clothes never stopped making her think of him. In her loneliest of nights, Elizabeth wasn’t above pulling on the oversized sweatshirt and accompanying pants when she went to bed. A far cry from the real McCoy but a girl had to make do.

He flashed a knowing smirk and pulled the sweatpants on one leg at a time. Through the entire process, John kept his gaze trained on her until Elizabeth had to glance away as her cheeks reddened. Busted, she knew. She stepped back and drew the drapes shut, blocking out the sun. She pulled down the covers of her bed, climbed in, and a moment later John joined her with a distinct groan, the harsh wince of sore muscles making themselves known as he settled against the mattress.

“I’m going to sleep for a week,” he grunted in annoyance.

Within minutes, maybe even less, she could tell John had drifted into sleep.

Elizabeth couldn’t follow him into slumber. There was restlessness in her limbs she couldn’t shake and though she fancied blaming that on the enzyme, the truth was her mind was wound tight like a coil, ready to spring. She looked towards her bedroom window, watching the shadows play across the drapes and imaged the pale moon that would soon rise. Another few nights, and it’d be a full moon again.

Where did she go from here?

Zaddik was dead, but things were far from happily ever after. Too many lives had transformed for the worse: Zaddik’s own daughter was devastated and traumatized; Teyla had a child of her own coming into this world with no father to speak of; Radek would have to get used to being blind from one eye; Rodney would have to transition nearly as much to help Radek get through it; and Ronon would need to adjust to whatever physical and psychological changes his new life would bring. She marveled at the vagaries of fate. Thinking about them all made her head spin and so instead of collapsing into a mindless sleep, Elizabeth’s mind drifted from one concern to the next.

And she had no job to speak of, no security. She had a little money saved up but not enough. Her talents seemed molded for that of law enforcement and she couldn’t really see herself doing much else in life. What was she supposed to do after being fired from her place in Atlantis? All her previous planning and preparations seemed moot now.

She’d never anticipated things going down this route.

She sighed heavily as she twisted in her bed, ending up studying John’s profile in the dim light, noting the silhouette of his face and the elegant curve of his jaw. Hours passed, the day grew dim and crept into shadows, and Elizabeth tossed and turned, restless and agitated. Careful not to make much noise, she finally rolled out of bed and padded barefoot down the stairs.

Everybody was asleep, clustered together in groups of three and four to share body warmth. She stepped lightly over them to reach the kitchen, flipping on the light to retrieve a glass of water.

"Hey."

Elizabeth turned to find Laura following her into the kitchen. "Hi. Sorry. Didn't mean to wake anybody."

She shook her head. "I was awake." Laura retrieved a glass from the cabinet near the sink, and filled it with orange juice from the fridge. "What are you doing up?"

"Couldn't stop thinking," Elizabeth sighed. "You?"

"Rodney was snoring into my ear all night long," she mused with a sign. "I swear, you'd think I'd have gotten used to it by now, but nope."

"You should switch spots for tonight, then. You need your rest. Everybody does. Long day."

Laura snorted. "No shit. I swear we just survived an apocalypse. Everybody else is just too burnt-out to realize it, but man, we really did pull off the impossible today."

"I think they realize it," Elizabeth countered. "I think they're just too tired to process it tonight."

Laura glanced up to study Elizabeth. "Except you. You're always thinking. Always processing."

Elizabeth raised an eyebrow. "It's something I'm trying to work on, trust me."

Laura's face was solemn, watching her. "The pack's been through a lot lately. Beaten. Battered. A few of us are downright broken, not to mention we're all homeless now. A lot of chaos. Things could descend into anarchy if we let it."

"It won't."

"Won't it?"

Elizabeth knew what Laura was really getting at. Bracing herself with a deep breath, Elizabeth locked eyes on Laura and vowed, "I won't let that happen."

There was a silent beat, and then slowly, for the first time in so long, Laura regarded Elizabeth with a blooming smile. "It's good to have you back, boss," she whispered, and turned to leave the kitchen.

Elizabeth was left alone, thoughts weighted by the promise she'd just given. She’d hold everybody together through sheer willpower if she had to; it was the least anyone could ask of her. Elizabeth had finally come back to the point of acknowledging herself as Alpha Female, and the job set out before her was daunting. In the aftermath of so much destruction, somebody needed to step up to the plate and maintain order before chaos broke out. It might as well be her.

She took a cool sip of water to sooth her nerves, and then wandered back up the stairs. When she emerged into her bedroom, the sight of John sleeping in her bed did more to calm her down than anything else. Except, a part of her rationalized, he was the one factor that probably should have scared her most of all. She appreciated all too well how disastrously this could end now if they didn’t communicate properly, and though she felt like they’d embarked on a new stage in their lives, one that would hopefully learn from past mistakes, she knew how much they could wound each other now.

Still, somehow, the one thing she didn’t fear in that moment was John.

As if stirred by her thoughts, John stretched out on the mattress, his hand fumbling over the bare space beside him. She watched as his hands sought out her form in the darkness and something tight caught in her throat. Elizabeth slipped back into bed and settled against him as he mumbled something incoherent into her ear. She allowed herself the luxury of drawing in the familiar musk of him, letting a moment of silence wash over before her eyes slipped shut.

Things would be alright. She’d make sure of it.

She drifted asleep and it wasn’t until hours later that she was drawn awake by movements in bed. She stirred to discover John watching her, a haunted look shadowing the color of his eyes. Elizabeth quickly recognized she hadn’t been the only one thinking weighty thoughts tonight.

“What?” she mumbled in concern.

He shook his head, reaching to curl a strand of her hair around his finger. She suspected it was something about the werewolf in them that had such a fascination with hair - a soothing brush, the deep drag of fingers, even the waft of his shampoo did something to her, and John seemed to suffer the same weakness.

His hand drifted down and tugged her body against his, settling back on the mattress, face-to-face, inches apart, and that haunting look in his eyes hadn’t abated. “What is it, John?” she encouraged.

He shook his head again. “I just had a bad dream.”

The gruffness of his voice said more than his words. Abruptly she knew exactly what his nightmare had been about and she cupped the curve of his unshaven jaw, her thumb running over his lips softly. When she reached over to kiss him, the taste of it is slow and dark, lingering in order to reassure him that she was there and alive and both of them were all right. The embrace ended with one of her hands braced against his chest, supporting her thin frame.

“The pack’s fine,” she reassured softly. “I’m fine. Everybody survived.”

“I know,” he insisted, “I know. It was nothing.”

Which was John’s only way of dealing with emotions – denying them, suppressing them. Instead of letting her go further with any line of questioning regarding his dream, he tugged her down for another kiss, and Elizabeth considered resisting for a moment, considered trying to get him to talk, but she could feel his chest lift with each inhale, and that sensation did something to her; did more to restore confidence than any words she could convince herself of. She knew he felt exactly the same way so she pressed a second kiss to his lips, more eagerly and forceful than the first, then another and another until she was leveled over him.

When she pulled back, she could still feel every rise and fall of his chest beneath her own. Predictably, his hands moved to the waistband of her pink pajamas, tugging them down past her hips. She helped a little, bending her knees to accommodate the maneuver so he could trail his hands over her thighs and down her calves, slipping the cloth free and her underwear quickly trailed after. She lifted her shirt off, curls landing with a bounce against her shoulders, and within short order she was completely nude in the dim twilight.

Elizabeth could vividly remember the first time they’d slept together. It was hard for her, even back then, to ignore the sense of building pressure between them. The constant need to physically affirm some basic connection between them had initially scared Elizabeth with its intensity. A part of it still did. But intensity didn’t always mean roughness, and Elizabeth decided she wanted the exploration tonight to be slow and unhurried, not fast and desperate like they’d only had the luxury of experiencing since their reunion.

She lifted her gaze to his, her eyes flashing yellow in desire, but Elizabeth took back some of the control she normally yielded to the mate inside her.

Slowly, she trailed her hand down his sternum and then underneath the elastic of his sweatpants, palming his shaft in her hand. As she first stroked him, John’s hips lifted off the bed even as his head pressed back against the pillow. His eyes squeezed shut and his face darkened in rapture. She kept her strokes slow and deliberate, watching the pleasure ripple across his face with avid affection. His breathing caught in his throat, then strangled loose with a moan, and the sound warmed Elizabeth from the inside, made her wet and aching for him but she ignored the desire, pressing a kiss to his jaw as she continued to handle him just the way he liked – the way he couldn’t control.

“’Lizabeth,” he groaned. “C’mere,” he urged, his hands tugging her hips to move, “Over me.” But when she moved to straddle his hips, he stopped her and repeated, “No, over _me_ ,” he encouraged, and licked his lips.

And immediately she knew what he meant. “You sure?”

The look he gave her was pure _want_ , naked and potent. She slowly withdrew the hand underneath his waistband and braced it against the wall behind the bed, moving up, sweeping aside a pillow to straddle his face. He squeezed her ass as she moved over him, spreading her legs wide over his mouth. He held her open with his hands, and before she had even quite steadied herself in the awkward position, the first lap of his tongue dragged across her clit and ripped a sob from her throat.

Her legs nearly buckled, but John persisted, holding her up with one hand digging into her hips as he lapped at her. She bucked involuntarily, nearly falling over and John was left to hold her up. She planted both hands against the wall and squeezed her eyes shut as John’s tongue was left to ride her through the thickest of it. John's free hand encouraged her to rock against him but she had to stop herself, couldn’t risk it in the precarious position they were in.

A sharp, guttural whimper escaped her lips. Other noises followed – small, indistinct and telling. Elizabeth felt her orgasm looming, felt her body begin to tremble, and despite the desperate writhing of her hips, John stayed on her till the end when the orgasm ripped through her like something possessed. She almost collapsed on top of him, limbs like jelly, but John hauled her to the side so that she landed on the mattress with a bounce. The angle of her body was all askew on the bed but Elizabeth barely paid attention, easing the desperate gasps for air into steady breathing.

As her body came down from the high, she watched the jump of his muscles as he threw off his shirt and stripped himself of the pants and boxers. He moved quickly, impatiently. Impatience well deserved – two years worth of impatience still had yet to ease away for either one of them.

That was a long time for a man, especially a werewolf alpha male. Elizabeth had never been with another man since John – never even really considered pursuing a relationship with anyone else, though there had been plenty of interested men. She’d flirted with the idea – even gone as far as a first date – but there was no one that compared to John; no one that could take the place of her mate.

She wondered if John tried to satisfy his loneliness with anyone else, though. Wondered if in those two long years he grew tired of waiting for Elizabeth and decided that a warm body was better than a cold bed.

A fierce rush of possessiveness and jealousy overtook her and she wrapped her sticky thighs around John and twisted, rolling them over so that he landed against the mattress underneath her. She kissed him to forestall any protests, the desire building in her for slow and steady; she knew John wouldn’t maintain that pace for long. Not this time. Not now. But she wanted to apply the brakes so that things moved just shy of torture; Elizabeth always enjoyed the gradual building pleasure in making love – had missed it intensely over the years.

Elizabeth was hot and swollen against him, rolling her hips. He choked her name – half in frustration – and she felt him slide between her thighs, the head of his cock grazing against her opening – not in, but against. Elizabeth swallowed hard, eyes squeezed shut as she shifted, rocked, using the friction between their bodies to tease instead of mount.

“Christ, ‘lizabeth,” he groaned, and lifted his hips to finally penetrate her.

The stiff penetration pushed Elizabeth into action, her muscles clenching and she pulled up and lowered back down, hands planted against John’s chest. Her plans of going slow don’t make a lick of sense anymore, especially when John arched up, fingers biting into her hips, slamming her down against him again. Elizabeth stopped, heavily, eyes half-lidded, recovering for a full second. She stopped, waiting until he opened his eyes and returned her gaze. She made sure he saw her – saw everything – and the message got through loud and clear because he stilled his impatience.

She rocked her hips against his, just once, and John‘s breath hitched and broke off with a strangled moan.

He seemed to finally understand her desires – her intentions – and his hands run up and down the curves of her body, encouraging the new pace. Each downward push made her breath catch softly, because it was slow and drawn out and the feel of him inside her was something she couldn’t describe in words. Her hips swayed with a beat that was entirely her own, friction and heat building as she moved, riding him slowly.

John leaned up to mouth kisses over the swell of her breast, up her collarbone, along the curve of neck. He lingered there the longest, and Elizabeth steadied herself with a hand on his shoulder, the other burrowing through his hair. She felt him shift – felt him _change_ \- the werewolf emerging to the surface just a little.

Aware and encouraging, Elizabeth leaned her head back. “Yes,” she murmured. “Do it, John.”

His teeth sharpened, scraped against the hollow of her throat, and then bit down. Heat flooded her body as he marked her, claiming her body with a visible signal to others that she was _his_. She'd repay him soon with a similar mark, but right now she just went with the wave of sensation. He hadn’t done this before – not since they got back together. Elizabeth clutched at him more greedily, wrapping her arms around John tightly as his teeth pressed into her.

Clarity assaulted her – no, he hadn’t slept with anyone else. She didn’t even need to ask anymore – she already _knew_ instinctively. A mate would know.

Elizabeth pulled back and John took the opportunity to roll them over on the mattress again. He was back on top of her, pushing into her, and Elizabeth let him ride her. He kept her original pace – slow and steady – the pressure still quickly climbing. They moved in slow, grinding movements and her internal muscles spasmed around him. He rocked with her, skin glistening and breath ragged as he leaned over her body.

“Fuck… c’mon ‘lizabeth,” he breathed gruffly. “C’mon.”

John’s hand skimmed across her sternum and down, insinuating it between the friction of their bodies and Elizabeth cried out at the added pressure. She came _hard_ , with his name breaking loose, strangled low and raw. Her muscles contracted and spasmed wildly and then John was groaning, thrusting desperately into her a few more times in an effort to quickly find his release. The climax swept through her like a tidal wave, shuddering waves of pleasure working through and shaking her body, and as she came down, John was still thrusting into her.

She swept a hand across his back, encouraging him until he jerked into her once more, the spurts of his release filling her. He collapsed on top of her, head resting in the cradle of her shoulder, mouth aligned over the mark he’d given her.

She had a flash of all the marks he’d given her, and quickly on its heels she had a flash of all their fights. John wasn’t flawless. He was overprotective and stubborn and plain reckless sometimes, the Alpha Male in him as bullheaded as an ox. He wasn’t perfect by a long shot, but then there was a newsflash for her: neither was she. They fought so much that Elizabeth often wondered if they were on the opposite end of every spectrum imaginable. Yet still something made this thing that they had – this connection that ran bone deep and past words – make sense.

Her hand came to rest across the back of his head, toying with sweaty blades of his hair and moved down the nape of his neck. “I’m right here with you,” she soothed, as much to herself as to him. “Right here.”

\--x--

The withdrawal hit a day later, and as her pack could attest, Elizabeth spent most of it tossing and turning in a dream-riddled sleep, fighting off a fever that left her body aching down to her very bones. The awareness that John and her pack were with her through the entire ordeal barely registered at the time, but afterwards, as she began to claw herself back out from misery, Elizabeth slowly adjusted to the life of a pack member again.

But where one life began, Elizabeth was acutely aware that another had to end.

Two days later, Elizabeth was back in her precinct, gathering together the last of her things to arrange inside a non-descript, cardboard box. In her hands rested an old photo frame – a telling image inside of her resting back in the arms of John on some balcony. The picture was one she’d stashed in the bottom of her third drawer, years ago, left buried under a pile of paperwork to be banished from sight.

Elizabeth settled the old photo on top of her belongings, above everything else, before she covered the box and tapped the lid closed.

With the contents of her desk now all neatly stored away, her work area looked fairly barren. Ten years of working at Atlantis PD, and all her belongings fit into one container. The area across from her – Sumner’s desk – was also neat and tidy, and she couldn’t recall ever seeing his workspace devoid of clutter and mess. The sight was almost unnatural.

She hoped the new detective that got this job had better luck here. And speak of the devil; no sooner than Elizabeth considered the thought, Vala Mal Duran came walking into the room like she owned the place.

Vala dressed smartly, professionally, but there was an aura of feminine beauty that was undeniable in the way she walked – hips swaying, a brash smile on her lips as she caught the eye of several men as she strode passed. The sight was enchanting, but then again that was Vala’s gift – a paranormal like herself. Unlike Elizabeth, though, Vala’s gift was for illusions. An illusionist could mesmerize, daze, and charm people like no other – even create visions to manipulate them. Rumor had it that Vala Mal Duran was an unconventional cop that no one wanted to cross.

Though such a gift would prove invaluable in their line of work, Elizabeth still wished her the best of luck. She’d need it in Atlantis.

Effortlessly carrying a huge duffle bag over one shoulder, Vala reached Elizabeth’s desk and then heavily dropped it on the floor. “Hello, there, Detective,” she greeted, flashing a dazzling smile. “You didn’t need to tidy up for me.”

Elizabeth tried to ignore the bait, but couldn’t. “Vala, I’m not working here anymore. I’ve told you that five times now.”

“I’m sometimes hard of hearing, so you’re going to have to repeat that to me a few more times,” Vala replied, offering an impish shrug as she crashed on Elizabeth’s swivel-chair. “At least until you’ve reached the point where you’ve changed your response.”

Around her, a few of the other detectives were trying their best not to make it obvious that they were watching the conversation unfold like hawks. The news of Elizabeth’s departure was mostly clouded in rumors, because no one except Caldwell and Elizabeth knew the full context of what had gone down. But by now everybody knew Elizabeth wasn’t coming back to work anymore. They probably suspected it had something to do with her grief for Sumner. A partner’s death was something no detective took lightly.

“I’m not sticking around,” Elizabeth reiterated with a tired sigh. “That’s not going to change.”

“You mean I’ll have to bond with the non-paranormals here?” Vala scoffed lightly, practically rolling her eyes. “They’re no _fun._ ”

“Way I hear it,” Elizabeth replied with an arch of her brow. “It was all the fun you were having that got you into trouble at your last two posts.”

Her unconventional methods had gotten Vala kicked out of two precincts before they landed her here.

Vala clamped her mouth shut, but there was a twinkle in her eyes that spoke volumes. Though she was nothing – absolutely and entirely _nothing_ – like her old partner, somehow the thought crept into Elizabeth’s head that Sumner would have liked her. He always liked spunk, and it was hard to get spunkier than Vala.

“Weir,” Caldwell called from his office across the bullpen. “I need to see you in here before you leave.”

Elizabeth pivoted on her heels, acknowledging him with a stiff nod. She flashed Vala a smile that felt slightly plastered in place, but Elizabeth soldiered on like a good little toaster. She passed by the cluster of desks and knocked on the Captain’s door before he waved her in.

“Close the door,” Caldwell instructed, and when she complied he motioned for her to take a seat.

“I’m good standing. You wanted to talk to me, Steven?”

Using his first name still sounded a little weird to her ears, but she had no reason to refer to him by title anymore, and calling people by their last names always seemed a little too impersonal for Elizabeth’s tastes. And for whatever fallout there was between them, Elizabeth could hardly blame him for the decision to terminate her. Caldwell was only doing his job; she’d always respected him for that.

She watched him recline in his chair, slightly fidgety, before he returned her gaze. “What are your plans now?”

Elizabeth struggled to come up with an answer. “A vacation, I think? Something relaxing to take my mind off things? Maybe I’ll… I don’t know.” She shrugged, and joked lightly, “Write my memoirs?”

“That’s… that’s probably for the best. You could use some downtime.”

Awkward silence was an understatement for the hush that fell. Caldwell swiveled in his chair and set a ballpoint pen down over a stalk of paperwork, and Elizabeth stood opposite of him, arms folded in front. He obviously had something on his chest that he needed to get off. Maybe just a simple farewell? But it was equally obvious that he had no idea how to broach it.

Eventually, Elizabeth took pity on him. “It was an honor working with you, Steven.”

She reached for the doorknob, but Caldwell’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “Elizabeth? For the record, the honor was entirely mine.”

She turned back to him with a look of quiet shock.

“I’ve been getting the full story from Jennifer Keller,” he answered her unspoken question. “She’s being held in custody but I doubt we’ll keep her for long. No way will any of the charges against her stick, even if we weren’t dealing with paranormal mumbo-jumbo.”

Elizabeth couldn’t say she was annoyed by those outcomes. “She doesn’t deserve to suffer for the sins of her father. She was trapped like the rest of his prisoners, like all his victims.”

“Carson checked her out,” Caldwell added. “She’s healthy as you and me. Vital signs are all… For a dead girl, she shows no signs of it. Not even any signs of necromancy. The girl you killed is still alive.”

“That’s one way of looking at it.”

Ellia Keller's grave was empty. In fact, in a twist of fate the plot next to it would house Zaddik Keller's body. Another vision of Teyla's fulfilled. Except whatever graves remained empty and others filled, Ellia Keller was still dead. But maybe Jennifer would do something with the life she’d been gifted. The girl had a chance now; Elizabeth just hoped she’d take it.

Caldwell opened his mouth, but his telephone rang and cut him off. He quickly answered it on the second ring, and she could tell by the way his face darkened that the call was important. She stepped back, offering a small wave before her hand fisted around the doorknob again.

“Weir,” Caldwell stopped her. “When you get back from that vacation? Call me. Rest for a bit, take some time for yourself. After Sumner and everything, you deserve that. But this… I don’t want this to be the end. Call me.”

He went back to his phone conversation before she could reply, leaving Elizabeth a little paralyzed by the request. Numbly, she left Caldwell’s office behind and walked back across the bullpen towards her desk.

Did he want her back on the force? Was he looking to make her a detective again?

He’d basically hinted as much, although he’d given her no explicit confirmation. God, her head spun with the possibilities. She reached Vala, and the other woman took one glance at Elizabeth’s pensive face and her curiosity was visibly peaked. Vala reminded Elizabeth a lot of a cat in that regard.

“You look like I did after I’d been strip-searched by that group of security men at the Vegas casino last year,” Vala remarked. “All teased and tense. Spill. What happened, chica?”

Elizabeth took a steadying breath, trying to dispel the thoughts tumbling around her head. “Nothing, I’m just… distracted, is all. Eager to get home.”

Vala nodded graciously, but Elizabeth knew she hadn’t fooled anyone by her performance. “Well,” Vala conceded, reaching for the photo that had previously been resting inside her closed cardboard box. Vala had been snooping. “I can see why you’re so eager to get home. Hello salty goodness, is this your werewolf hubby?”

Elizabeth snatched the photo back. “Yes,” she answered, and then blinked. “I mean, no. He’s not my husband. But yes, he’s my—”

“Significant other?” Vala cut in. “Life-bond? The yin to your yang? The scratch to your itch? The Homer to your Marge?”

Elizabeth’s eyes narrowed in faux-annoyance. “I wouldn’t put it in those precise words.”

“So you’re exclusive with him?”

Elizabeth didn’t know whether to roll her eyes or laugh. “What is this? Twenty questions? Why are you so interested in my love life?”

“I’m afraid it’s a side-effect to my own current and rather disconcerting dry spell,” Vala answered with a dramatic sigh. “Oh, and by the way, since you’re all going-steady with your wereboy over there, I suppose you won’t mind if I flirt shamelessly with the tall, dark and sinfully handsome man waiting for you in the lobby?”

Elizabeth blinked in confusion. “What? Who?”

“He said his name was Mitchell.” Vala reclined back, feet propped up, eyebrows wagging suggestively. “Cameron Mitchell.”

\--x--

Cameron was waiting for her at the receptionist’s desk, and with a quick glance out the window, confirming it was still broad daylight outside, concern gnawed Elizabeth as she approached him with quick strides. Fearing the worst because of his daytime visitation, her mind had vaulted into damage control. It was shocking how quickly that could happen.

“What is it? What's wrong?”

Cameron turned to greet her. “It’s nice to see you, too,” he quipped lightly.

“Is something wrong, Cameron?”

Cameron blinked at her. “Why would something be wrong?”

She stopped short, glanced to the receptionist that was eying the exchange avidly, and then tugged Cameron aside by the forearm to a more secluded corner of the room. “You’re here during daylight,” she whispered fiercely, afraid someone else would overhear. “That’s not the usual M.O. for a vamp.”

Cameron shrugged. “I’m not the usual vamp.”

She’d gathered that much already. “So, nothing’s wrong?”

He rolled his eyes. “Nothing’s wrong. Learn to breathe, woman. How is it you haven’t had a stroke before now?”

She released a harsh breath, unable to give an answer that wasn’t stooped with a little too much self-deprecation. She’d spent too much time in crisis-mode lately. Anything out of the ordinary still had her jumping to dire conclusion. It’d take some time yet, she figured, before that instinctual response would fade away.

She glanced to Cameron again. “So… what are you doing here? If there isn’t anything wrong?”

“What?” he sounded wounded. “Can’t I go and visit a friend?”

 _Friend._ Her mind caught on the word, and after a moment of deliberation she decided it was an apt description for what they had. She’d given him blood. He’d given her enzymes. They’d both saved each other’s lives. That was a solid foundation for friendship if there ever was one.

Self-consciously, she brushed a strand of hair away from her eyes. “Right, of course. No, it’s nice of you to visit me. It’s just… I don’t really work here anymore, Cameron. I’m just picking up my stuff.”

“Oh,” Cameron acknowledged with a nod, a tad confused. Thankfully before she was left to explain her reasons for departure, he quickly moved on. “You need a ride home?”

She shook her head. “John’s picking me up in twenty.”

“Right, of course,” Cameron allotted. “John.”

His gaze dropped down to her collarbone, where John’s mark was still present and visible for all to see, and though Elizabeth hadn’t remembered the bite mark before, she suddenly felt highly aware of it now. Cameron’s gaze darkened with disappointment, and she would never have noticed that slight tell if she hadn’t been standing so close to him – and why the hell was she standing so close to him anyway?

Gracefully as she could manage, she stepped back, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. God, this man managed to throw her off her bearings and the worst part was she couldn’t even recognize why.

“So,” she recovered. “How goes the readjustment to freedom?”

“It’s like learning to walk all over again,” Cameron answered with a scowl. “I’ve been gone for a year, but back home it might as well have been a hundred years. My stuff is all gone. My friends have all moved on. Even my favorite TV show has been pulled from the air.”

Despite his levity, Elizabeth found herself sympathetic to his predicament. “I’m sorry, Cameron. Take it one step at a time. Reestablishing your life takes work.”

She would know.

Cameron nodded. “I’ve decided to stick around Atlantis instead. With Chaya and Michael gone, there’s a power vacuum in this city among the vampires.”

Elizabeth suspected as much, for whoever took reigns over the vampires would wield significant power in the city. As a detective with close ties to the paranormal factions, Elizabeth saw firsthand what that type of power could mean. She could’ve used such influence more than once over the years to quell some fires among the factions, but the truth, as retrospect showed it, was that Michael had never been too giving with his help. While he'd been more obliging than others like Chaya, Michael always did what was necessary for him to do. Nothing more.

With Cameron, maybe things would be different. Maybe this city would finally get some help?

“You should keep in touch with some of the detectives here,” Elizabeth replied. “There’s one – an Illusionist – that would probably like to talk to you.”

Vala would in fact _love_ any excuse to talk to Cameron.

The man brought his gaze to hers and held it. “I was kinda hoping I could use this as an excuse to keep in contact with you.”

The words weren’t subtle, weren’t even close. She could have taken them as harmless flirtation and brushed them aside, but his dark gaze belied something else entirely and Elizabeth felt like they’d been fumbling through this dance ever since they met. It wasn’t innocent or innocuous, not in the slightest. Cameron meant the words with the heaviest intentions behind them.

With some difficulty, Elizabeth managed to keep her voice even, “Cameron, you know that John and I are—”

He cut her off. “I hate to hear that you’re leaving the force, Lizzie.” He stepped back, pivoting towards the door in an obvious signal that the conversation was drawing to a close. “Losing one of their best, I’m sure.”

“Thanks, but don’t call me—”

“Lizzie,” he finished, flashing her a flirtatious smile. “I know. See you later?”

After a stilted beat, she nodded once. “I’ll see you later, Cameron.”

He parted, leaving Elizabeth rooted in the lobby with a strange discord in the pit of her stomach. She suspected nothing had been resolved in the exchange and Elizabeth walked away with the distinct feeling that Cameron wasn’t as thwarted by the mention of John as he should have been. She hoped he’d take the subtle hint. She liked the idea of having Cameron as a friend, and that was something she would have said of no vampire a mere month ago.

Maybe in another lifetime, she mused silently. Because in this one? She was all John’s.

“Detective Weir,” the receptionist called, and Elizabeth was too tired to correct her on the use of title. The receptionist offered a smile and held up a mug. “You nearly forgot this in the lounge.”

It was her favorite coffee cup, a mug with a cartoon werewolf on it that Sumner had given to her as a gag gift one Christmas eve. Elizabeth accepted the offering, whispering her thanks before she made her way back to collect the rest of her belongings in the bullpen.

Except with each step taken towards her desk, towards that carton of things that comprised her entire life as a detective, Elizabeth felt something strange overcome her. A resistance to the notion that she was just going to pack up and leave gnawed at her. Swiftly on its heels was a bout of determination that propelled Elizabeth right past Vala and her desk. She headed straight towards Caldwell’s office with a purposeful stride and entered without waiting for permission.

“I’m well rested enough,” she began without preamble, slamming the door and catching Caldwell off-guard. “I don’t need a vacation, or any amount of time off. I am this job, Steven. I live it and breathe it, and I am the best person for it. If you can’t see that, then I feel sorry for you. Because this job requires more than just brains or brawn, it requires someone that gives a damn, too. I give a damn, Steven. This job was _meant_ for me.”

Caldwell was still on the phone, though he was staring at Elizabeth with his mouth slightly agape. “Can I get back to you in five, Jack?” he spoke into the phone, distractedly. “She just came back.”

Elizabeth's brow furrowed as Caldwell hung up the phone. “Jack? As in—”

“O’Neill,” Caldwell confirmed. “He was just telling me that if I let you go, he’d try to swipe you for his own jurisdiction. He has a lot of regard for you.”

The news bolstered Elizabeth’s confidence a little. “I meant what I said. I’m the perfect person for this job, Steven. For this city. You know that.”

Caldwell paused for a beat, and then slowly, almost leisurely, he reached for the bottom drawer of his desk. He emerged with her gun and her badge, resting the items on the surface before leaning back again.

“Yeah,” he simply approved, and then sternly crossed his arms in annoyance. “But next time, knock before entering my office otherwise I’ll knock you down to traffic duty for a month. Is that understood, Detective?”

Elizabeth quickly reached for her things. “Perfectly.”

“Good. Now go in there and put a leash on your new partner? Vala has every man in this place more jittery than bugs.”

She offered him a dazzling smile. “Yes, sir. I’ll do my best.”

\--x--

Several days later, the moon was nearly at its fullest – which meant the first of three transformation nights was quickly descending upon them.

Before nightfall, in a procession of four cars, the entire pack rode into the thickest of the woodlands. There was harmony there, a balance that soothed the werewolf inside her as her body first felt the approaches of change. When they climbed out of the cars, Elizabeth picked her way carefully along the winding path through the trees, her stomach rumbling with hunger. The group emerged into a large clearing where they set up camp, and Rodney was already breaking out the rare steaks. Radek, with a new eye-patch firmly in place, helped with the task.

Teyla was with them, as well. Elizabeth insisted rather adamantly that the Wiccan spend a few days in the accompaniment of the pack, and though she could hardly stay with the pack during the night, Teyla agreed to come along for other reasons. Magical wards needed to be placed around the perimeter of the woods, ensuring that no one would be able to enter the area during nightfall and none of the werewolves would be able to leave. Protection of the highest accord was given to the task, and Elizabeth, for one, appreciated that Teyla was taking the better part of an hour setting up the wards.

This was the first night in two years that Elizabeth was going to experience a transformation without concrete and a barred cage locking her in.

Elizabeth admitted it: her nerves were a little on edge because of that.

John wasn’t helping the matter. Having only recently learned of Teyla’s pregnancy, his innate need to overprotective came rushing to the surface. “Are you sure she should be stressing herself out like that?” he whispered to Elizabeth as his face scrunched up in concern. “Shouldn’t she be… I don’t know? Taking bed rest and not lifting anything above five pounds?”

“She’s a few weeks pregnant, not convalescent,” Elizabeth chided, having listened to his concerns now for well over half-an-hour. “Stop being _overprotective_.”

Which was like telling a dog not to bark, she knew.

“I’m just saying,” John tried again, “she shouldn’t be stressing herself. Maybe after these three nights, she could… she could stay with us? The pack’s got plenty of room in the house and…” he trailed off, shrugging uncomfortably whenever he was exposing the fact that he cared about someone. “She could use the company?”

Elizabeth glanced to Teyla, watching her cross the small clearing with a handful of sage. A moment later she dropped the flowers onto the ground and spread her hands wide in the air, continuing to set the wards in place. Elizabeth watched as the flickers of white light danced between Teyla’s fingers, a familiar sight now of wondrous magic.

Teyla seemed to be handling all the strange new developments in her life like she handled everything else, with a quiet grace and dignity that Elizabeth envied. Particularly tonight. The Wiccan hadn’t spoken much of her grief and guilt over losing the father of her child, but Elizabeth could already tell that the pregnancy was offering her something else to focus on; something else to dwell her energy in. And Teyla would make a wonderful mother. A person only needed to be in her presence for a short period of time before that became rather obvious.

“She’ll be fine,” Elizabeth decided solemnly, finally breaking her pensive silence. “But you’re right, John. She should be surrounded by loved ones. I’ll ask but not tonight. Teyla seems to already be enjoying herself tonight. Besides, I told Ronon to watch over her and make sure she doesn’t spread herself too thin.”

And surprisingly, Ronon was turning out to be quite good at following orders; something she would have doubted beforehand.

Elizabeth waved a hand in their general direction. “Why don’t you go relieve him of duty for a little while?”

John paused, assessing her and Elizabeth felt like the stiffness of her posture was giving too much away. When he spoke again, it was obvious that he'd redirected his concerns back to her. “You okay? You seem… strange tonight.”

She took a moment to collect herself before answering. “I’m fine.”

Thankfully he didn’t press the issue. “All right,” he conceded with a nod, apparently knowing better than to push her. “But you need to talk to Ronon in the meantime.”

She sucked in a deep gulp of air and twisted slightly to look up at him. “I do?”

John threw her a pointed look. “You do.”

It was Ronon’s first night of transformation, and frankly they still weren’t sure what he’d transform into. His unique vampire-werewolf hybrid DNA was going to make things… _interesting_. And he wasn’t the only one green to the situation either.

For the first time ever, Elizabeth found herself as a sire. She’d bitten Ronon and turned him into what he was. Previously it had always been John to bring a new member of the pack into the fold. There was a special connection between sire and childe that existed like no other, and for the first time Elizabeth was experiencing that bond with someone other than John.

The responsibility was daunting.

John left to accompany Teyla, and then quietly supplied a word or two to Ronon. The larger man pivoted to face Elizabeth, and as he approached her with long strides, Elizabeth braced herself with a deep breath.

\--x--

Ronon eyed her, obviously absorbing everything she’d just told him – about the transformation he could expect to feel this first night. The intensity of a mutation was hard to describe in words, but Elizabeth thought she managed to convey the strength of it well enough. Nightfall was still an hour away, but she informed Ronon about the pheromones and the heightened awareness that would rush through him well before that. She told him about the lack of control; the sensory overload; the way his hormones would play havoc with his system.

By the end of it, she glanced up to find Ronon trying to smother a grin.

“What?” she voiced defensively.

His unnatural blue eyes flashed with amusement. “Why do I feel like I’ve just had the sex talk with my mom?”

Elizabeth wanted to smack him in the forearm. “This is serious,” she insisted in a tight voice, but the way he was grinning at her made it impossible for her to maintain a somber expression. Despite herself, she thought over everything she’d just told him and the talk did, in retrospect, seem a little excessive. In truth, with a man like Ronon, it was always better to let the act speak for itself.

She sighed heavily. “Fine, but just listen to this one piece of advice.”

“What?”

“You’re going to be disoriented in the morning when you wake up. Don’t run. We’ll find you, but just… just don’t run.”

Ronon’s grin melted away, his expression growing somber with the weight of her words, and he nodded once. “I won’t.”

\--x--

It was darker than Elizabeth was used to, what with no city lights within fifty miles. The day was quickly shadowing and Elizabeth finally began to feel the pheromones flushing her system, preparing her body for the shift of muscle and the growth of body mass that would occur within ten minutes. It left her, like always, restless and jittery. Everyone in the group was feeling everything of the same. Teyla left, driving back to the heartland of the city in one of their cars and the rest of the pack dispersed through the woods, scattering like leaves in the wind.

Elizabeth and John wandered down one of the half-beaten trail ways, at least a mile away from the others. Just enough distance to maintain some privacy. At some point in time during the night, the pack would instinctively seek each other out again and Elizabeth would no doubt wake up with the group come morning.

But before the change, things were usually best reserved for small numbers. Two, in their case.

Elizabeth quickly began getting undressed as the temperature began to drop to a chill. Behind her, John was tugging off his shirt and her mate’s prevailing scent hung heavy in the air, proving a distraction. Elizabeth tried to calm her nerves, but the task proved nearly impossible now.

John halted at her back, and she eased back as he circled arms around her waist. He stared at the view alongside Elizabeth, both watching the thicket of trees recede into the horizon and the darkening sky above them. A few hills of Atlantis rolled one over another, and to the left of them, the city blinked with shimmering lights from miles away. She felt oddly serene here, warm and blanketed, staring at the scope of Atlantis as it stretched onwards for miles and miles.

“Perfect,” she breathed. "Isn't it?"

He rested his chin on her shoulder. “Now it is.”

She smiled, then tugged herself around so that she could kiss John quickly, but he wrapped his hands around her, framing her face to deepen the embrace and Elizabeth gasped against his mouth, fighting for breath against the sudden onslaught of heightened awareness.

It hit them both in the same instance – the roll of blistering heat through their bodies, like blood beginning to simmer. They pulled back from each other, breath hitching as a rush of goose bumps broke out. Every hair on Elizabeth’s body stood on end as the heat wave coursed over her body. John’s arms tightened around her waist, almost painfully. As it darkened outside, her breathing grew labored, and Elizabeth felt the moment riding towards her with all the haste of an oncoming train. She wanted to lower herself to the ground on all fours, head hung low, waiting as the transformation took control but John wouldn’t release his grip.

Her knees caved and instead they both landed on the floor in a pile, John’s arms still wrapped around her possessively. He buried his face into the curve of her neck, breathing in her scent as the first shivers of change overtook her. Her fingers curled and claws appeared, her teeth sharpened, and she knew in the dimming light two sets of yellow eyes were emerging. Minutes later and there were only two animalistic mates left behind – two bodies changed as the sun disappeared and the pale specter of the night took control. The two werewolves flung their heads back and howled against the moon, and a second afterwards the roar was echoed by a dozen other wolves from all across the woods.

Her howl faded the last; the lone whine stretching long as she finally greeted the future - lit by the full shimmer of the moon, a clear cloudless sky and the endless horizon.

Elizabeth was home.

\--x--


End file.
